


Saving Thedas for Fun and Profit

by theisleisfullofnoises



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dream Mazes, Hopping on the MGiT Train, I am so sorry, Intrigue, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Playing in the Fade, Playing with Magic, Rogue Training, Secret Identity, Slow Build, The Masked Empire, Trespasser DLC, eventually, the slowest burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:08:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theisleisfullofnoises/pseuds/theisleisfullofnoises
Summary: So here was the thing about waking up as an unfortunate guest star in an even more unfortunate fictional universe.Nothing said I actuallyhadto do anything.No Marks bestowed by questionable deities, no angry Seekers, no unfortunate Fade-walking-related titles of holiness - just me: the unremarkable Meg. I could just keep my head down, take my over-informed self off to a safer place, maybe the far end of Ferelden or a friendly Avaar tribe, and let the events play out like they should. Hell, it might even be better that way. No ill-timed meddling to disrupt the probably drunken hand of fate.Until A Certain Asshole burned the world down.Yeah, I didn't like that plan either.Fine. I guess we're doing this. But the moment anyone calls me the Herald of anything, I'm quitting.





	1. Hint: It's Not an Invisibility Cloak

My first thought, as soon as I was conscious enough to have thoughts, was ‘ _Ow_.’ 

Followed by, _‘Ugh, what’s that smell?’_

And then, ‘ _Actually,_ _I think that’s me. Great.’_

Gritting my teeth, I shifted, trying to get a sense of my limbs beyond ‘somewhere’ and ‘hurting.’ Dust and jagged stone scraped under my cheek as I fumbled my arms into a semblance of order beneath me, pushing myself up to my knees.

I regretted it immediately.

I vomited, body spasming with the heaves. It felt like all of my insides had shifted around inside of me. Literally. Sloshing and all. I swayed, barely avoiding falling face-first into my own sick. Judging my the mess of my clothes, I already had at least once. Thus the smell. Joy.

I was still shaking, head resting on a forearm, when someone spoke. 

“Well,” drawled the voice from somewhere above me. “This looks unpleasant.”

I twitched, startled. The movement proved too much for my shaking limbs and my arms gave way, dropping me on my side in a painful sprawl. At least I still managed to avoid landing in the sick. Go me. 

“Ow,” I stated weakly. Insides were still sloshing.

There was an odd, fluttering sound, and then the voice spoke from much closer behind me. “Hmm, I’d be careful if I were you,” it - he maybe? - said, in the same slightly bored tone. “Beings of flesh aren’t really suited to this world, and you seem less suited than most. Too much excitement and you’ll just unravel faster.”

That… did not sound good. It also sounded completely insane. _What?_

I looked over towards the voice, starting register that something was Very Wrong with me and that the friendly bystander did not seem very friendly at all, actually. Most people would have probably offered to call an ambulance by now - or at least the cops, depending on how deranged I looked and what neighborhood my amnesiac self had ended up in.

I caught a glimpse of my surroundings— grey and green and black rock, shapes shifting, stretched and askew, like physics and Euclidian geometry got drunk and had a nose-busting brawl. I managed to get as far as, _‘Huh, is that rock rippling?’_ before my stomach rebelled again and I had to slam my eyes shut. 

Okay. That was _not normal._

I tried another peek to confirm. Yup. Nightmare drug trip still in effect.

I sucked in a breath. Okay. When in doubt, logic, right? First rule of logic, get information. “What’s going on?” I rasped out. “Why do I feel—?” I cut off, coughing.

I got a thoughtful noise in response, and then I felt a strange sensation, like the tip of a finger trailing over my skin but deeper, there but not there. “You appear to be suffering a conflict of nature. What you are is in discordance with itself — not good, particularly in this place. It’s tearing your physical and spiritual being apart. Rather messily, I might add. Dying, I suppose, would be another way of putting it.”

The explanation was raising all kinds of red flags ranging from 'Bullshit' to 'Absolute Nutter,' but "dying" didn’t really leave much room for misinterpretation. It was certainly how I felt, especially once I went into another coughing fit, my whole body wracking. When it passed, I was left shuddering and staring at my hands, clenched in the odd, colorless dust and too weak to hold me up. Whatever was happening, I couldn’t stay here, and my options right now were very limited.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head in the direction of the voice. “Help,” I whispered. I could taste blood. “Please?”

There was a pause. A long one. Then a sigh. “Well. I suppose I hadn’t anything more interesting to do.”

Something changed, shifted in the air, and then I felt arms come around me, scooping me up into a cradling hold. I tried to look up, see the face of whomever was carrying me,  but my face was pressed into some kind of feather-garmented shoulder instead. It smelled strange, like stillness and night. Not like a feathery shoulder at all.

I was probably starting to get a bit delirious by this point.

“You’re rather beyond anything I could fix, little thing,” the voice stated smoothly. It sounded different like this. Deeper, less raspy. “But I believe I know someone who is capable. We’ll have to see what her mood is like today. Perhaps you shall have better luck than whatever brought you here.”

I had begun to lose awareness of my surroundings. I knew that we were moving. I got senses of light, and darkness, sometimes whispers or distant voices. A sudden lighting change - a doorway? - and we finally came to a stop.

Then a new voice spoke, ringing and sharp like the scrape of a blade on stone. “Well, well. What have we here? It has been quite a while since you’ve paid me a visit, little one.”

The arms around me were tense as steel, but the response came in a neutral tone.

“Has it? I pray you may forgive me. I shall have to keep better track.” I was shifted, perhaps to free a hand to gesture. “What good fortune that this rather sorry little thing brought me to you. I found it while wandering near the Tear, and its mewling was rather inescapably pathetic.”

“And you decided to aid her? How… interesting.”

I felt my bearer stiffen and reached up to curl my hand against his chest. Maybe he relaxed, just a little. “It is small, and rather odd. I suppose it caught me in a fit of whimsy.”

“Whimsy, you say.” Amusement. “Very well, I find myself feeling rather _whimsical_ as well. Bring her here that I may look at her.”

I was lowered on something softer than stone, and felt a twinge of regret for whatever furniture I was probably ruining with my gross self. A hand, cool and soft, pressed against my cheek, followed by that strange _there-not-there_ feeling again. I shuddered and tried to open my eyes, but nothing seemed to be working right anymore. I let out a small sound of protest.

There was a clucking sound. “Ah. You are _very_ lost, indeed. So bright, but so quickly fading. Soon to be drowned beneath the currents of this world. A fragile bloom uprooted and cast adrift, and yet I sense…” A single finger trained down my face to my chest, pressed down over my heart. “Yes. So much _potential_. Just a little push would do. Should I? Perhaps, perhaps not. Will I? Hmmm.” The voice trailed off, the pause more absent than thoughtful. “It is so easy for potential to be wasted, after all.” A hand brushed a lock of hair from my face.

I was unraveling. I could feel it now, tugging at me like the loose end of an old knitted sweater. Everything was coming apart and nothing made sense but I was still conscious enough to realize some of what was being said. _Wasted potential? Well you can take your stupid ‘perhapses’ and shove ‘em up your—_ With the last of my strength I could muster, I reached up and grasped the hand at my chest, tilting my head aim a glare at its owner.

Blackness crept into my vision, and all I could see was a pair of tawny eyes. There was a frozen moment, and I heard a quiet breath of surprise on my other side.

Then the golden eyes creased in laughter. “Ha! Perhaps not so fragile as presumed. Very well, it is decided.” 

The hand was pulled from my limp grasp, and replaced firmly on my chin, tilting my head. “A gift for you, Otherworlder. Use it well.”

I was just delirious enough to think bemusedly, _Is it an invisibility cloak?_ then soft lips pressed just between my eyebrows, and _something_ passed into me. 

It hurt. Oh god, it hurt. It felt like something sliding between my flesh and bones, weaving itself through my veins, wrapping itself around that nauseating _wrongness_ that had been aching through my body and _pulling._ I writhed, lips parting but unable to draw breath enough to scream —

And then something shifted inside me, _click,_ like the last tumbler on a lock, and it was over.

I sagged bonelessly. I think I drifted off a bit, lost in a strange new world of sensations that weren’t pain. 

The hand returned, stroking my cheek. “It is done, child. Now you must rest. You will need time to become yourself.”

“What will that be?” came the voice of my feather-shouldered helper.

There was a pause. “Do you know, I’m not quite sure.” A barked laugh. “Isn’t that marvelous?” There was some more laughter.

Then there was a shift, someone standing, and the golden-eyed stranger spoke more brusquely. “You will have to take her from this place now. From Dreaming entirely, in fact. It is too much for her, as she is. Let her root herself in the firmer soil. Later, perhaps, when she is ready, she may return.”

Wait, that sounded like cryptic person for ‘goodbye’. I couldn’t leave yet, I had questions, so many questions, and maybe some yelling some to do. I tried to sit up, to address the speakers, but everything lurched strangely as I moved. I pushed myself up and ended rolling myself over abruptly, falling right off whatever I had been laying on. It was like being drugged, none of my limbs where I felt them and the world too bright and and sharp around me.

“Nhhgh,” I said insistently from the ground. There was something weird about my mouth right then. And I itched _everywhere. “Nnnhhhgh.”_

I heard a sigh. “I see what you mean.”

A pair of feet, booted, can to a stop in front of me. I craned my head up, but all I saw was a pale hand reaching down before a cool finger pressed against my forehead and all was blank.

I woke an unknown amount of time later, face pressed once more into a feathery shoulder. We were moving again.

“Finally. I was sure you had decide to be even more difficult and expired anyway. That is a large favor you owe me, by the way. I don’t need the kind of attention and meddling that inevitably comes from catching her eye.”

I shifted, trying to sit up and look around. Or at least see the face of my mysterious helper. A hand came up and covered my eyes.

“Okay, really?” I said. Well, whispered, really. Hoarsely. Apparently almost dying is thirsty work.

“Oh, you don’t want to do that just yet. She was right; you aren’t done settling, and I suspect a bit too much stimulation will lead to you vomiting on yourself again. And me.” 

Well, it was hard to argue with that, since I still felt distinctly off-kilter and was becoming increasingly aware of my own stench. “Sorry.” It was really rather noble of him not to comment of the smell. “Thank you.”

“As I said, _very large favor_. Be thankful you caught me in a generous mood. I still don’t know what came over me. You had better be interesting, little flower. I’d despise seeing my efforts go to waste.”

It occurred to me that my rescuer was actually, truly, kind of an asshole.

It also occurred to me, a moment later, that I also had _no fucking clue what was going on._

I tensed, reaching up to grab the feathery garment thing my rescuer was wearing. “Wait,” I said. “Where are we going? Where are we _now_? What- who—” I tried to articulate all the questions bouncing around in my head past my still-clumsy tongue.

“Well, aren’t you a spirit after my own heart. So many questions. Fortunately, all will be revealed in time. Probably. Or so I’ve heard. In the meanwhile, you are overdue for a trip to the Waking — speaking of which.”

We came to stop. I tried to peer around his hand, but all I got was glimpse of blue-grey grass, some choppy geography - the lip of a canyon maybe? There was an odd feeling in the air, like loose spiderwebs brushing against the skin. “Here we are, one entrance to the Waking realm. I even checked for demons first, and it’s close to where I first found you. Mostly. I think. Close enough. Anyway, any final questions?”

“ _Yes—_ “

“No? Wonderful. Be wary when you return— not all denizens of the Fade are as kind and generous as myself. Until then, do try to survive.”

Something niggled at the edge of my mind. A thought teasing at the edges of realization, prickly and uncomfortable and _utterly impossible -_ but before I could grasp onto it, the hand was removed from my eyes, and I got the briefest impression of wild dark hair, dusky skin, bright grey eyes—

And then the bastard threw me off a cliff.


	2. The Reason You Are Thinking of Rams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Meg makes some unavoidable connections, plans are made, and she digs deep for some good old-fashioned optimism. Or something.

Should any of you happen to stumble upon a lost soul and wish to give them aid, I advise you to keep in mind a few common courtesies while you do. Things like proper introductions, hearing out questions and providing lengthy answers, and, oh I don’t know, _not throwing people off of cliffs._

 

I had enough time to register I was falling before being engulfed in a wave of green light. It was like plunging into a bath of ice water and static electricity, sensations prickling and squeezing for an agonizingly long second. Then it was just air and falling, and my panicked scream could finally tear its way loose from my throat. At least until I landed on a patch of grassy earth with an inelegant _thud_. 

 

I groaned, feeling distinctly bruised, but I wasn’t dead, and that was definitely above my expectations.

 

Still. Ouch. Also, rude.

 

I rolled myself over, limbs shaky but holding, and warily took stock of my surroundings, squinting in the bright sunlight.

 

I had smacked down in a little grassy clearing surrounded by rocky hills. It looked… _pleasant_. The air was warm, heavy with that earthy, late summer smell and the sound of bugs and birdsong. 

 

Huh.

 

I tentatively poked a nearby rock. It was decidedly rock-like. Everything else also appeared to be obeying the standard rules of physics. Nice, normal reality. I was still completely lost and reeling from what was possibly a horrifyingly realistic drug-induced hallucination, but reality was something I could deal with.

 

Well, I’d thought so, anyway. I had just settled in for a nice round of staring blankly at the pretty hillsides while contemplating the probable loss of my mind, when something _chimed_ behind me.

 

The sound was almost musical, ringing and cracking like two dissonant tuning forks set in a fracturing glass. Pretty, right?

 

I slowly turned around.

 

The… _thing_ hung about twelve feet in the air, glowing faintly green and chiming softly with movement. It was crystalline in appearance, but the shining facets would also ripple and distort, like loose fabric in a breeze. As I watched, the glow brightened and a crystal spire bulged outward, stretching like something was pushing outward from the inside.

 

Alrighty, then.

 

I stood and took a very careful step away. Then another. And another. I made it to the edge of clearing at a calm, measured pace.

 

There was a loud, shuddering _crack._

 

Turning tail, I bolted.

 

I didn’t really know where I was going. ‘ _Away’_ was really my clearest thought. ‘ _Home’_ was a powerful one, too, but even in my scattered state I didn’t need help to realize that was probably not the easier option.

 

I ran, tumbling and tripping over the rocky terrain. I made it to a little canyon, cut by a tiny creek, and followed it down. I probably should have turned an ankle horribly and been left crippled to die in some unknown wilderness by this point, but luck and agility were apparently on my side. _Must’ve rolled a Nat 20,_ I thought a bit hysterically. I didn’t stop.

 

I was wearing my hiking boots, I slowly realized, along with jeans, one of my many nerd shirts, and an old oversized windbreaker I remembered finding in my closet recently. I think it used to be my brother’s. _Huh_. I’d ponder that later, when sprinting through unfamiliar wildernesses in a psychotic break was a less compelling activity.

 

I ran until my sides burned and I was shaking. I heard the sound of rushing water, a lot of it, and slowed to a walk. The little canyon opened up to a scenic view next to a larger waterfall. I stepped out onto the little ledge.

 

Then I sat down. Hard.

 

Now, bear with me here. I don’t know what your first idea is after waking up probably dying in Creepy Green Wonderland, but it probably isn’t “You know, this terrifyingly alien environment seems pretty familiar for some reason. What did you say this place was called?” When you wake up in another completely unfamiliar landscape, you don’t start pondering, “Gee, those rolling hills would look spectacular in CGI. Why am I thinking about rams?”

 

However, when you combine both of those experiences with Floating Green Things of Nope and a _giant fucking hole in the sky,_ you start to make some unavoidable connections.

 

_Impossible_ connections.

 

So. _Hello, my name is Meg, and I just found out I’m in a video game._

 

Ha. Haha, no. Nope. Not happening. Waking up would be great any time now.

 

No?

 

Well, goddamn, piss, fuck, and just for good measure, shit.

 

As tempting as it was to curl up in a fetal position or scream “What the FUCK?” endlessly at the sky might have been — and it was, please believe me — physiology has a way of reminding you to pay attention to the little things in life.

 

Notably, that I was sore, parched, and covered in dried vomit.

 

I decided to shelve the inevitable existential crises and tend to the more manageable needs. I drank what felt like half the little creek before the sloshing in my empty stomach made me stop. Visceral flashback, if you will excuse the pun. Not fun at all.

 

I stripped down, washing myself - cold! - and then my clothes as best as I could. The jeans and shirt ( _Highlander_ themed, an old favorite) were irrevocably stained, but at least I wouldn’t feel like a horror movie extra with the plague when I had to pretend to be a normal human being again.

 

Which I would have to. With people. In video game land.

 

I sighed and sat down again next to my drying clothes, rubbing a hand over my face. The view from this little cliff was quite beautiful, really. Mountains, stark and white capped, reached up into the green-veined sky in the distance. Golden foothills and and grasslands sprawled between here and there, divided occasionally with a winding road or river, speckled with farmlands. A peek to my left showed a sharply carved valley, dotted with greenery, houses and farms. Also a lot of smoke. In the distance, I could just make out the hazy image of a grand fortress, perched at the edge of a large body of water that stretched to the horizon. This all seemed _rather_ familiar.

 

And, of course, there was the Breach. 

 

In the game, it had always looked just kinda bright and glow-y. Everyone always talked about it like this awesome and terrifying thing to behold and I just thought that yeah, a giant green glowing tear appearing in the sky _would_ be pretty scary, if not exactly scary- _looking_.

 

In this moment, all I could think was that the Bioware designers must have been feeling _really lazy._

 

It was a ways to the mountains from here, but even distant it was eye-catching. Veins of green twisted out across the blue, writhing slowly as I watched. They trailed back to the heart of it, the little patch of sky that fell away into something… _other_. Looking at the Breach, there was a sense of gaping openness, like when you stand too close to the edge of a cliff. Feeling the rushing in your ears, wondering how far you could tip before you fell.

 

So, yeah. The whole running around and screaming  “It’s the end of the world!” thing was suddenly a lot more relatable.

 

I must have stared at it too long, because I began to feel dizzy and quickly looked away before I _actually_ fell off of a cliff. _Note to self,_ I thought, _staring into tears in reality does weird shit to your head. Surprise, surprise. Idiot._

 

I shook my head, shuffled both hands through my hair vigorously, and sat back.

 

Well. Now what?

 

“Okay,” I said conversationally to the air. “You’ve woken to find yourself in the fantasy world of Thedas. What do you do next?” I paused. “After sleeping with Fenris and giving Aveline a hug, of course,” I added. Then I giggled. It may have sounded a little unhinged. “Maybe touch Varric’s chest hair. Blackwall’s beard. And tell Cassandra I think she’s pretty—right, not helping.” I rubbed my forehead.

 

“Okay,” I repeated, taking a deep breath. “Let’s try this again, _realistically_. You’ve woken up in Thedas after the Breach opened and before the Breach was closed. You have no idea how you got here other than ‘through the Fade’, no money or weapons, some practical skills, enough scientific and historical knowledge to probably be declared a witch and a heretic, and an uncomfortable amount of information on future events and the personal histories of a lot of very important people.

 

“So,” I said, squinting up at the cloudless, blue and green sky. “What do you do with that?”

 

That was the big stumper, wasn’t it? 

 

The big, flashing answer was to find a way home. Given that I had no idea how I had gotten to the Fade to begin with, or how to get back safely — throwing myself through some random rift didn’t sound like the best plan — I’ll admit I was feeling a bit thwarted in that regard. I’d have to gather more information, and survive long enough to put the information to use. However long that took. Probably a lot easier said than done. Especially with the whole impending possible apocalypses thing. 

 

Of course, there was the other answer. “Save the World.” 

 

Ha. Hahaha. Ha.

 

Okay, _fine._ Sounded pretty great in theory, especially if it turned out I was - if I was staying for longer than I’d hoped. 

 

Say “No” to the apocalypse, boys and girls.

 

Practically speaking, however, the whole savior business didn’t go so well. Just ask Andraste — oh, _wait_. 

 

Martyrdom is a big no-no, too, kids. I don’t care how cool they make it look on TV.

 

Thankfully, though, the actual chances of that happening were slim to none. I was more likely to end up dead or locked up if I started claiming to know the future or to have traveled from a different world. I could just imagine the screaming accusations of possession. Fun stuff.

 

And even if, against all odds, I did manage to fast-talk my way into a position of influence, then I would be a dreaded _person of influence._ There would inevitably be complications. Massive headaches’ worth of complications. Possibly death and torment. Which I would not be thinking about right now. Ugh.

 

I sat for a while, idly scratching at an almost healed scar I didn't remember getting on my hand, hoping inspiration would strike me with a clear solution. When it didn’t, I just sighed. 

 

“Well, fine then, let’s try this: Plan A, survive until you can come up with Plan B. Step one, since,” I eyed the hills, the mountains, the valley and castle, “I’m pretty sure this is the Hinterlands, first thing is to get out of the hills and to the Crossroads. Without dying.” I blew out a breath. “Which will be a lot easier if the Inquisitor has already been by a time or two. Step two? Figure out what in Thedas is going on once there. Step three, figure out what the hell you’re going to do from there. Ideally, miraculously find a way home. Step four…” I paused. “…Profit?”

 

Nodding decisively, I clapped my hands together. “There! Easy. Sounds like a plan, right?” I asked the little beetle crawling up my arm. It fluttered its wings a few times, then flew off. 

 

“Yeah, well, what do you know, you’re a goddamn bug,” I grumbled after it. “And I seriously need some human company,” I added with another sigh, then grimaced. “Aw, crap— _sentient_ company. Not human. Christ, that is going to be a problem.”

 

I stood and pulled my sun-warmed but still damp clothes back onto my body. I reloaded my pockets with what I had pulled out of the windbreaker - a half-eaten bag of jerky; my father’s old pocket knife, which pleased me immensely; a compass, which appeared to be losing its mind and endlessly spinning, and my iPhone. I pressed the power button - it was a stupid impulse, the battery would never last, and what would I even do with it in the middle of fantasy nowhere’s land - but phone remained dead. I thought about just chucking it off the cliff, but stuck it in my back pocket instead. Hey, who knows. If I got home tomorrow, I’d feel pretty silly about throwing my phone off a cliff in the Hinterlands just because it was out of charge.

I contemplated the jerky, but I didn’t really feel like eating yet and it would be useless if I just sicked it up again.

 

I bundled myself up, and eyed the two other canyons branching off from the ledge. They both looked equally likely to get me lost. If only I had a compass. Oh wait.

 

“What I need,” I mused, “is some good, old-fashioned optimism. ‘Meg, you can do this. It’ll be okay. We probably won’t even die!’ ’Thank you, Meg, that means so much coming from the raving lunatic talking to herself. ‘Well, hey, this could also just be an obsession-fueled coma dream and you’re actually drooling into a pillow in some hospital while your subconscious makes you suffer.’ ‘You’re right, your optimism really sucks.’” 

 

I was going to have to start sending my therapist Christmas cards again.

 

I did feel a bit better, though. I had an idea of where I was, where I wanted to go, and what to do from there. Things were looking up. With renewed cheer, I picked the rightmost canyon on a whim and set off at a determined pace. I rounded the first corner quickly.

 

And ran smack dab into a very startled bear. 

 

“Oh, fuck everything,” I said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to post this chapter early since I've got a few stacked up, but from here on I'm going to be posting at a more weekly basis (hopefully). Just thought thought I'd go a little wild at the start!
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for dropping by! I hope you all are still having fun. Again, constructive criticism is heartily embraced and much appreciated.


	3. David Attenborough Owes Me an Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because bears. Dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to David Attenborough.

_Here’s a motivation they never brought up in gym class_ , I thought to myself some time later, feet splashing down _another_ twisting canyon. _Better keep up with your cardio, because you never know when you might have to run for your life from angry bears in another universe!_

 

I heard a low bellow behind me and tried to muster a bit more speed. I was pretty sure bears didn’t usually chase people for this long.

 

“Aren’t bears… supposed to be… opportunistic omni.. vores?” I gasped, throwing myself down a turn into a smaller channel. “Go eat… some goddamn…  berries.”

 

For whatever reason, the bear didn’t seem inclined to follow my suggestion. Stupid psychotic fantasy animals. Watch some fucking NatGeo.

 

I actually did remember something, a report by Minaeve or that Tranquil woman, Hel-something? It talked about how exposure to the rifts would alter the behavior of animals. I remember being kinda tickled at the idea - as far as I had seen, the Fade was exclusive to “people”. Was it just ambient magic, or did touching the Fade affect animals’ perceptions, thought patterns, perhaps even intelligence? Wouldn’t it be cool to examine that idea more closely?

 

This was not what I meant.

 

I heard a roar again, a little farther away. It was being hampered by the narrowing canyon walls. _Well, thank goodness the bears here only come in horrifyingly large, otherwise I’d really be in a pickle._

 

I dropped into a slide, skidding under a fallen tree propped up against a boulder. That would likely slow it down, but if the bear was really obeying monster movie rules, it wouldn’t stop it completely. I rolled clumsily back to my feet, hissing at the new scrapes, and tried to come up with a plan, any plan, of how to avoid becoming an entree on the ursine menu. I couldn’t keep outpacing it forever - the canyon had opened up again and with one wilderness sprint under my belt already, I was tiring fast. I also couldn’t climb out of the canyon now; the walls were three times my height and sheer rock. Any of the next turns could lead to a dead end. It would be really embarrassing to have traveled into a world of such horrors as demons, evil wizards, and darkspawn, only to get offed an hour in by a bear. 

 

Priorities, I have them.

 

As I rounded the last curve, however, my considerations were made moot. Almost terminally so.

 

“Oh ffffffff—” I squeaked and flailed, back bowing. I managed to tilt myself backwards onto my heels and slumped, gasping, against the canyon wall and staring down the sheer drop I had almost launched myself off of. I’d finally found the end of the canyon.

 

Well. Did I consider jumping off a cliff more or less embarrassing than death by bear? It was starting to look like a very relevant opinion to me.

 

An enraged snarl echoed from the canyon. I was willing to bet that the bear had reached the tree blockade.

 

I stepped to the edge, trying to find a way down — some ledges, convenient handholds, anything — but there was nothing that would work, not with an angry bear bearing down. I eyed the bottom of the drop, mind ticking away — there was a little pond, fed by the canyon creek. How far was this drop, forty feet? Fifty? The hint of an idea tugged at my brain, but it was a ridiculously long shot. 

 

There was another roar, closer, and I knew I was out of time. Long shot it was.

 

“This, Meg, is the worst idea you have ever had,” I said, stripping off my jacket and emptying its pockets. I stashed the objects in my jeans and bra, and began tucking the jacket tightly in on itself. “Even worse that the one with Officer Stalinski’s motorcycle and the Hello Kitty stickers. Or Gabriel and bowling ball catapult. Or—“

 

I heard thundering feet and snarling, and I sucked in a breath. Showtime.  

 

“I hate my life,” I announced, positioning myself right in the middle of the canyon, where I could see and be seen for the last several yards of the canyon. The hulking, red-eyed and froth-mouthed form came barreling around the far corner. It caught sight of me, snarling and fully mad, and lunged forward at a full charge.

 

My throw nailed the bear right in the nose, the jacket unwrapping itself on impact to cover the bear’s entire head. It bellowed, startled and confused now, and skidded awkwardly into a wall as still thundered forward. Right at me.

 

So I jumped. 

 

To the _left._

 

I actually felt the bear pass me as leapt, fur brushing skin. I could sense the moment the bear realized what had happened, body tensing in instinctive panic as its feet felt only air beneath them. Then my own feet hit the small ledge protruding about three feet from canyon’s mouth, and I smacked into the rock wall with a gasp.

 

My hands shot out, scrabbling for purchase as I overbalanced, my momentum carrying me that hair too far. I felt myself begin to tip, screaming obscenities in my mind, then my hand brushed on a length of vine growing down the rock face. I seized it, catching myself, easing back, and then I was sagging against the sun-warmed stone. Close one.

 

The bear howled all the way done, striking the bottom with a wet _Thunk!_  

 

Silence.

 

I carefully leaned back, craning my neck to look down to the base. The bear lay motionless in the little pond. Dead. _It actually worked. Huh._ “Meg,” I frankly, “you absolute crazy person, and that should never have worked.” And then, because I had literally just dodged death by a hairsbreadth, I whooped, punching the air and laughing giddily. 

 

I stopped when I swayed a little too far back, and decided any further celebration could wait until I was firmly on the ground. 

 

The climbing ivy was fairly extensive, more so than I had noticed, and apparently much stronger than it looked. It was terrifying, but I found I could work my hands around the vines pretty well, and it held strong as I spider-climbed my way down.

 

My jacket was floating next the body, so I stripped off my shoes and socks and waded into the water. I scooped it up and tossed over by my shoes, made to follow it, but hesitated. 

 

I didn’t like just leaving it here. It was the first time I had killed anything larger than an insect. On purpose, I mean. My first and only goldfish in 6th grade didn’t really count. There was also the matter of leaving dead things in a water source was generally rude, but ultimately, I was never going to be able to heave the body out of the pond. 

 

I finally sloshed my way over to the body. Up this close, it seemed even more enormous, but also… sad. Crumpled in the water, fur rippling a little in the current, it didn’t seem like a terrible monster. Just a bear, and as much a victim of impossible circumstances as me, most likely.

 

_What else has this world broken?_ I wondered. _And what else will break before it’s over?_ The thought wouldn’t settle comfortably in my head.

 

Feeling impulsive and maybe a little morbid, I gently picked my way over to the head. It must have landed face-first. I reached out can came away an incisor the length of my finger, already loosened with a large crack running through it. With a little grimace, I rinsed it off in the slightly pinking water and shoved it in a pocket.

 

I finally slogged my way out of the water towards my things, giving silent apologies to who or whatever was downstream of this little creek, and to the bear. Who knows, maybe there were really bear spirits here that could get offended when you left their bodies just lying around in ponds. _Could explain why you couldn’t go ten feet without running into an ornery bear in the game. God, I really hope that had been a game-world exaggeration._

 

And with absolutely brilliant timing, as soon as I had that thought, I heard something rustle in the nearby underbrush. 

 

I lunged forward and grabbed my boots, clutching them to my chest as I pulled out my pocket knife and flicked it open with a little _snick._

 

Yeah. _That_ felt about as pathetic as you might think. But if all you have is a three inch blade against potential rampaging bears, you get inspired to be very, _very_ creative. Or so I hoped. 

 

There was a little sound, like a chittering cry, and from the rustling bushes popped out a… fennec.

 

A _tiny_ one.

 

I stared at it dumbly, knife still extended.

 

It made that plaintive little call again, and I watched as it made its way over to my jacket, sniffing around a bit. It seemed to like the smell. Rather poor taste, considering all that jacket had been through in the last day. 

 

I saw it lift its hind leg meaningfully and jumped forward. “Oooookay, no,” I said, juggling shoes and knife to snatch up the little fox. “No peeing on the jacket, that has seen enough abuse. Or on me, same reasons,” I added, as its wide amber eyes locked onto my face, fascinated. 

 

It was _really_ small, probably pretty young. Its ears were still kinda floppy. It was skinny too - I could feel its ribs when I picked it up.

 

I plopped it down gently by the bushes and stepped back. It just sat there, looking at me. 

 

“Go on,” I said. “Shoo. Be free. Hear the call of the wild and all that.”

 

It sneezed, then blinked its enormous eyes at me, making that chitter-cry again.

 

I looked at it for a long moment, then pressed a hand over my face with a pained sound. “This is why everyone always gives you that look when you tell them you are a responsible adult that can make your own choices, Meg,” I said, mumbling around my palm. Then I scooped up the little fennec, ignoring its startled _yip_ , and walked over to my things.

 

The first thing I did was fish out the old bag of jerky, which had softened in the heat and possibly exposure to my sweaty body. Ew. The little guy didn’t seem to mind it, however, and fell into the strips with gusto. I watched him while I put on my socks and boots, sliding my now again dripping jacket on over my shoulders. Looked like the little thing hadn’t eaten in a while.

 

When he finished, he sniffed around a bit, hoping for more, then came over and plopped down in front of me, looking up expectantly.

 

“I don’t have any more,” I said. “Look, there’s a whole bear over there.”

 

He blinked up at me, licking his chops.

 

“I am not your mama fox,” I told him firmly.

 

“ _Ch-ch-chreeee,”_ cried the fennec.

 

“I said I’m not— Oh, fine. Here.” I picked him up and tucked him into the hood of the jacket. Given the apparent propensity of things that wanted to chase tender, juicy humans around here, I didn’t want my hands full in case I had to climb a rock or run up a tree or something equally thrilling. “If you give me any ticks or flees, I’m going to be very disappointed in you,” I warned, turning my head towards my new passenger. It shifted around, grumbling a little at the dampness. “Well, if you don't like the seats you can just—“

 

A howl cut through the air, interrupting me. All the hairs on my body prickled on end, and I felt the little fox go completely still. 

 

“Time to go,” I said quietly. Stuffing the little jerky bag in a pocket, I moved away from the pool and towards the distant lines of smoke I could see, somewhere past the trees. This time, I was careful to avoid any blind corners.

 

Just before I passed out of sight, I saw a dark shape step out from the shadows, approaching the pond. It paused, watching me, before tipping its head back and howling again. I shivered a little, picking up my pace.

 

Looked like the bear wouldn’t go to waste after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! No Inquisition yet, but they will turn up eventually, I swear. Meg doesn't exactly get the full Hinterlands tour of terrors, but let's face it, she's not in for a pleasant afternoon stroll.
> 
> On another note: bowling ball catapult? Yeah... thing that actually happened. Ehehehe. Don't do that.


	4. In Which I Am Not Eating, Drinking, or Smoking Pot. Sadly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names are chosen, and Meg's day is made more exciting. Again.

So, to recap: I was not eaten by bears or wolves. _Yay_!

 

On the other hand, I was still trapped in a video game universe. _Boooo_.

 

My mad, bear-fueled dash had taken me out of the rockier hills, and I now found myself surrounded by gentler, tree-dotted slopes tucked into into small, steeply walled valleys. I might have gotten bit turned around during my run, but I assumed if I kept moving deeper into the main valley, I’d eventually find a road. I figured once I found a road, I’d be able to follow it to the Crossroads, because, well, it was called _the crossroads._  

 

Of course, there was still the matter of making it through the “Everything Is Trying To Kill You” Hinterlands. For some reason, I wasn’t feeling quite so enthused about the idea anymore. Maybe a little tense. Wary. But hey, bold adventurers had to keep their wits about them, after all. Sounds sensible, right?

 

After about twenty minutes of twitching at every shadow and one mutually heart attack-inducing encounter with a ram, I decided I _had_ to relax before I killed myself walking off a cliff because I was too busy staring suspiciously at a tree. 

 

Even if it _was_ a very suspicious-looking tree.

 

I staggered, all tired limbs and aching feet, to stop under the shade of an old oak, feeling sweat trickle along my hairline. A warm breeze wound its way along the walls of the valley, and it carried with it the scent of smoke, grass, wildflowers, and… something else. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I took a deep, shuddering breath let it out slowly, tipping my head back to watch the birds flutter among the acorns and mossy branches, sunlight dappling shadows across my face while I listened to the grasses whisper in the wind.

 

For a place that was very likely to be the cause of my inglorious demise, it was…beautiful. Serene and full of life, like a summer painted from a poet’s words. If I ignored the smell of smoke and the haze of it on the horizon, it was difficult to believe that this area was a nightmare of war-torn devastation. 

 

I supposed I was really feeling a bit of imperialist privilege in that moment. War to most Americans is a distant thing, fought by trained soldiers in harsher lands. It was hard to remember that most battlefields had once been someone’s home. Here, I suspected, it would be impossible to forget. 

 

All the realities in the theoretical multiverse, and I got the one with a religious war, a civil war, a terrorist cult, and a full-scale potential apocalypse all for the price of one really bad day in a Chantry. That’s without counting the ongoing Qunari invasion, the Blights, and whatever secret army thing You-Know-Who has going by the _Trespasser_ era. Next time, I’m checking the box for Hobbiton, dammit. The movie-verse one— no Ravaging of the Shire by Saruman, just a copious amount of food, ale, and possibly marijuana. _Sigh_. 

 

Well, it could be worse, I suppose. Happy Hunger Games, anyone? Or if we were keeping with the video game theme - _Fallout_. Yeeek.

 

The fox interrupted my rather grim turn of thoughts by shuffling around a bit in the hood and propping his head against my shoulder, eying the birds with particular interest. I spied another fennec appearing out of the grass well ahead of us, a mouse gripped in its jaws. It paused for a moment when it spotted us, then continued on its way, disappearing into a den at the base of the next tree.

 

I quirked an eyebrow at the little guy on my shoulder, but he showed no sign he was about to take off for a rodent lunch nor more appropriate company. I reached up to give him a little scratch under the chin, and he made a pleased sound, shoving at my hand for more when I stopped. I smiled wryly. Fearsome hunter indeed. 

 

“Is that it, then?” I asked him. “No haring off to join your wild brethren? You’ve given up the freedoms of the untamed to live in luxury, fed strips of dried meat and carried about by your two-legged servant?”

 

The fox, attention drawn to the sound of my voice, gave a little _prrrrrrl_ sound. He didn’t seem particularly regretful.

 

“Well, joke’s on you,” I said dryly. “I have neither luxury nor an endless supply of jerky. I probably won’t even be around for very long. A terrible investment all around, I assure you.”

 

He looked at me with his wide amber eyes, then gave my cheek a little lick.

 

Hell, I knew a losing battle when I saw one. “Fine,” I sighed. “If you’re going to be stubborn about it, we’re going to need to give you a name.” 

 

I reached back and pulled him out. Dropping down against the oak’s trunk, I stretched out my legs with a pained whine and settled him into my lap. It felt so good to sit for a minute. I eyed the little fellow thoughtfully. “What do you think of Robin Hood?”

 

The fox looked a me, and then sneezed. 

 

I pursed my lips. “That’s a no. Zorro?” 

 

A bumble bee thrummed by precariously, and he turned to watch it’s progression. 

 

“No swash-buckling for you, I guess.” I ran a hand through my sweaty hair, ruffling the short locks. “How about Nick? Vulpix? Swiper Noswiping?” A yawn. “Bummer, I liked that one. Hmmm.” I nibbled a little at my lip, thinking. “I don’t suppose you’re a Tod, are you?” I muttered absently.

 

He eyes locked right back on my face, and he yipped. 

 

I blinked, then grimaced. “No, really, Tod?” I asked skeptically. “Are you _sure_ you aren’t a Robin Hood? I could just call you ‘Hood’ for short, after your favorite form of transportation.” He nosed at my hands, making a discontented noise until I gave in and started petting him. I sighed, defeated. “Fine. _Tod._ It’s not like you’re named for one of the most traumatizing movies of my childhood or anything.”

 

I might be a bit of a wimp for tear-jerker cinema, so sue me. _The Fox and the Hound_ is still a horrifically depressing movie for a child to see. I mean, sure, it’s a powerful and thoughtful message on how to reconcile the seemingly unreconcilable differences we encounter in life, blah, blah, but the first time I saw it, I didn’t stop crying until my parents actually freaked out and took us all out for ice cream. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it again until my twenties because I was afraid of embarrassing myself. 

 

It, ah, may have induced emergency ice cream therapy then too. Damn Disney. All I could say is that if _this_ Tod ended up friends with a Mabari pup then I didn’t care if I had to steal myself a goddamn dog—

 

I stilled suddenly, going on full alert. 

 

Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what exactly set me off to start with. I must have sat there for a full minute before I finally heard the reason for my ‘Disturbance in the Force’ moment

 

A child’s cry.

 

I unceremoniously shoved Tod back into his hood roost, wincing at his offended chittering, and levered myself stiffly to my feet. Arrowing to the nearest sloping ‘wall’ of the little valley, I began to climb. 

 

As I neared the top of the hill, I began to hear other sounds. The thud of heavy objects being jostled around, voices speaking in heated tones, a startled shout and a mocking laugh. Things that did not fill me with joyous optimism.

 

“There is no way this isn’t going to suck,” I muttered as I finally crested the hill. I dropped onto my stomach, parting a tall tuft of grass to peer down the other side.

 

Well.

 

I had found the road. 

 

I had found people.

 

Unfortunately, neither of these seemed like a good thing right now. 

 

Tod shuffled about to look over my shoulder again as I took in the scene below.

 

The crying child was seated on a rickety and overburdened wagon hitched to an equally rickety and overburdened-looking mule. An older boy, perhaps his mid to late teens, stood on the ground next to the girl, a comforting arm pressed around her. An elven man— their father, perhaps— was lying on the ground like he’d been thrown from the wagon. His expression was twisted in desperation and fear, his hand outstretched, impeaching, towards the children.

 

Between them stood four templars.

 

_Yup. Definitely sucks._

 

Two of the templars were digging through the contents of the wagon, completely ignoring the terrified tears of the child at the front. A third stood a little further away, sharp eyes darting over the road, his companions, the children and father. A lookout, maybe, or the leader.

 

It was the last of them that caught and held my attention. He stood still in the midst of everything, staring down at the fallen father with a naked blade in his hand. There was something _off_ about the way he was staring, a certain jerkiness to his movements, a faint tremor in the way he held the blade. 

 

Templars. Which meant _lyrium._ And I was willing to bet doses weren’t quite so regular when the Chantry had withdrawn support and your Order had cut and run from the world. 

 

Well, there was nothing like a bunch of heavily armed, highly trained, and highly indoctrinated drug addicts on the loose to make my day more interesting. Like I needed it. _Seriously._

 

_Shit._

 

One of the templars was speaking. Tense, I hunkered down further into the grass and tried to listen.

 

“…from the east road,” one of the searching templars, a woman, was saying. “That passes awful close to Redcliffe.”

 

“Please,” the father said, voice ragged. “We’re just travelers. We’ve done nothing wrong. We were just trying to get to Lothering, for family, my wife was—“

 

Her companion replied as if the elven man hadn’t spoken. “Maker-forsaken abominations, the lot of ‘em.” He spat on the ground as he threw open a new chest. “The Order should just wipe ‘em out. They’ll be nothing but trouble, seeding lies and demons. First the Divine, next they’ll be conquering Thedas. Anyone could be a spy, an agent,” he added, giving the family the kind of manic sneering look that was usually accompanied by pictures of UFOs and a tinfoil hat. 

 

Twitchy didn’t say anything, but I saw his hand clench on the hilt of his sword. The elven man saw it, too, and paled.

 

“Enough, you two.” Lookout snapped at the searching templars. “Jarrod,” he said more quietly to Twitchy, “Ease off, brother. We’ll be able to afford some more soon.”

 

Twitchy didn’t say anything, but relaxed minutely.

 

“Ha!” Tinfoil Hat exclaimed loudly, pulling something from a chest. “Is this what it looks like?”

 

“That amulet is enchanted,” hissed the woman next to him. She turned a glare to the father. “Is it your work, knife-ear? You one of them? Just thought you’d slip out while everyone was regrouping from the Conclave, I bet. Are these children little mage spawn too?”

 

The man went froze. “What? No— Please, I’m not— None of us, we have no magic. That amulet was a gift. I swear. _I swear._ ”

 

“Don’t lie to us, scum,” Tinfoil Hat snarled, walking up to shove a foot into the man’s side. “We know your kind. You a supplier? A smuggler? You may not be a mage, but you would sell your meager honor for their bloody gold all the same.”

 

He kicked the man again. I caught sight of the boy’s frightened, outraged face and I realized what was about to happen. 

 

_No._

 

“Leave him alone! It’s not his, it’s m—” the boy shouted angrily, leaping forward to pull Tinfoil Hat away from his father. 

 

“Duva, don’t!” the father gasped.

 

_Don’t do it._

 

“Get off me, you stupid, knife-ear brat—!” Tinfoil started to snarl.

 

_Too late._

 

Twitchy moved fast, reaching out to catch the boy by the arm. He swung the boy around, and as if in slow motion, I could see the grip on his sword shifting, steadying, readying for the blow.

 

My hands were clenched, trembling, on the stalks of grass. _You can’t do anything_ , said the quiet, rational voice in my head. _You’ve got a pocket knife and a fox. You can’t do anything. Look away, Meg. Look away. You don’t have to see this._

 

Ah, fuck me.

 

_“Mages! Help me, please, the mages, they’ve gone mad!”_

 

The scream split the air, ringing in the little valley, and everyone froze.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good bit of writing went down, so there is a two-for-one this week! Inevitably to make up for the time when I will need to borrow a week for extra writing, I'm sure.


	5. All Hail Tod, Prince of Foxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck templars. And not in that fun, Culley-Wully romance sort of way.

 

The templars froze, a tableau one second away from disaster, and turned as one, eyes searching for the source of the scream. 

 

“Ser?” the woman said.

 

Lookout seemed to blink back to himself. He glanced over the frightened family and the wagon. “Drop everything,” he ordered. “That came from the other side of this hill. Form up and follow me.”

 

The templars moved quickly, tossing items aside to grab up shields, swords, and bow. Twitchy lingered, hand tightening on the boy’s arm, before he finally released him and turned, following after the others. The boy stood there a moment, watching them go, before he staggered two step forward and collapsed next to his father. Couldn’t say I blamed him.

 

I waited until the templars had crossed out of view of the wagon, then practically _threw_ myself down the hill.

 

The son was helping his father to his feet as I ran up. 

 

“…be sure they are gone, Father, we should leave before they— Sweet Creators!” The boy jumped a full six inches into the air. 

 

“Hi, whoops, sorry about that,” I gasped, trying for a smile at the startled family. “Actually, about those templars—“

 

“Blessed Sylaise, child, what are you doing out here alone?” the man started.

 

What was I…? _Child?!_ “Clearly, making terrible life choices,” I ground out impatiently. “ _More_ importantly,” I continued, glancing nervously over my shoulder, “how do you feel about gathering up your family and hiding in some of those lovely piles of rubble?” 

 

They both stared at me for a heartbeat. “…Why?” The father asked suspiciously.

 

“Well, because any minute now the templars are going to figure out that there aren’t any mages and come raging back here,” I admitted, a little sheepishly, “and I think we should probably be gone before that happens.”

 

It took a moment for my words to register, but then the pair moved _fast_. 

 

“Duva, grab you sister and your packs,” the father directed sharply, rushing to the back of the wagon. “Stranger- friend,” he amended falteringly, “if you would help them—“

 

“I got it,” I interrupted, in favor of whatever made Running Away go faster. I darted to the son’s side to grab the packs from him, shouldering them as the boy scooped up the young girl, her tears subsided as she gave me a curious look.

 

“Over there,” I nodded to a pile of stonework and burnt walls that had likely been a house once. There were a few of them along the this section of road, lost to war or raiders or mice with cigarettes for all I knew. The boy nodded and took off. 

 

I made to follow but paused, eyeing the mule’s harness thoughtfully. My father’s knife came out with its smooth flick, and I made a few quick, careful slices before jogging over to the hiding spot. I got there just as the man tucked himself next to his children, curling up in what had probably been a chimney. I settled down across from them, behind the remains of a crumbling wall where I could still peek out through the gaps in wood and stone. I was getting some serious eyeballing from the family, but now really wasn’t the time to explain.

 

For a long minute we just sat there, waving off flies in the heat and getting gritty streaks of soot on our hands and arms as we shifted uncomfortably.

 

Then the templars returned.

 

And yeah, they were _pissed._

 

They surveyed the abandoned wagon in grim silence.

 

“Should we go after them, ser?” the woman asked.

 

Lookout, who I guess really was the leader, walked over to cast critical eye over the wagon. “There’s still food, supplies. And the mule,” he said, with a little kick at the beast. The animal hawed irritably, shuffling sideways in its rig. “Let them go. We’re better off just taking this with us.”

 

Tinfoil Hat swore viciously, kicking the wagon so hard that one of the open chests tumbled off the back with a resounding crash. The whole family flinched, and the girl let out a tiny, frightened whimper.

 

Twitchy stilled. He turned away from the wagon, eyes scanning. Gaze landing on the little cluster of burnt buildings, stared a moment.

 

Then he started towards us.

 

_Are you freaking kidding me?!_ I thought, ducking further down. _How did he even hear that? Does lyrium addiction give you paranoia as a superpower?_ Actually, that might kind of be true. Next on Meg’s After School Special: Don’t do drugs, kids, especially those harvested from the deaths of titanic primordial beings of the earth. Superhearing totally isn’t worth the psychosis.

 

I gestured warning to the others, and the father nodded, tucking them all deeper into the chimney, with careful shushing to the girl. The brother was just staring at me, wide eyed. Maybe waiting for me to pull a brilliant new plan out of my ass. Me, too, kid. Me, too.

 

_Okay, Meg, any other bright ideas to share with the class?_

 

_I’m afraid I’m stuck on, “Make a run for it and hope nobody gets dead.” Will let you know if anything better comes along._  

 

_Crap, crapcrapcrap—_

 

The templar stopped, blessedly, outside the first, closest burnt out house, not ours. Unfortunately, if he stepped about three feet to the left, he would be able to see straight into our own hiding place anyway.

 

Daaaaaaaammit.

 

You know, playing matador with a rampaging bear was starting to move lower on my list of terrible ideas.

 

“Jarrod!” That was Lookout, walking up next to him. “What are you doing over here?”

 

“I heard something,” Twitchy said in a flat voice. “They may not have gone far.”

 

_Uh, no, nope, nobody here but us chickens. Bwaaak, bwak-bwak._

 

“It’s going to take a while to get this wagon back to the rendezvous point,” Lookout pointed out. “You can check around briefly, but we are about ready to head out.”

 

The brother shot me an alarmed look, and the father closed his eyes, lips shaping words - prayers, most likely. There’s something very strange about praying to gods you literally know are incapable of answering you. Though I was ready to praise the Flying Spaghetti Monster and his noodly appendage if it had the slightest chance of getting us out of this.

 

“I won’t be long,” Twitchy said in that strange monotone. “I heard something. It was from over here.”

 

I heard him shift, stepping closer to our sad little hiding place, and I tensed. I was getting ready to- I don’t know, do something dumb, probably. 

 

Instead, Tod chose that exact moment do decide he was done with being smooshed up against a wall, and clambered out of my hood. With a flying springboard leap off the top of my head.

 

“ _Ch-ch-chreee!_ ” he said to me irritably, then turned to important business of chasing flies.

 

There was a long pause as everyone, me, elves, and templars, all looked at the little fennec in surprise.

 

“…Come, brother, it is time were were underway,” Lookout said finally and walked back to the wagon. Slowly, painfully slowly, Twitchy turned and followed after him. We held our breath as they walked away, _clank, clank, clank._

 

Tod tired of chasing flies and bounded back to me, nudging at my hand for more pets. I stroked a hand numbly down his back.

 

We all listened as, after many objections from the mule, the creaking of the wagon and the rattle of the templars’ armor moved further and further away. Finally, it was gone.

 

“Jesus H. Christ,” I gusted out, sagging suddenly against the wall and probably getting soot all over my hair and face. Tod whined, startled, and I scooped him up, cradling him close. “I can’t keep this up,” I said to him. “I’m going to go grey and die of a heart attack by next Tuesday. God.” I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, feeling the warm breeze over my sweaty face as I waited for my pulse to slow.

 

“Bless all the Creators, but I agree with you. Mythal, watch over us,” the father muttered.

 

“…You have a fennec?” This came from the son.

 

I opened an eye to glance at them, eyebrow quirking. The father was slumped back against the chimney rubble, hand pressed over his eyes and looking like I felt. His children were staring at the fennec in my arms with fascination. The girl looked positively enraptured.

 

Damn, but kids are resilient little fruit loops. 

 

“May I introduce Ser Tod,” I announced with a tired flourish. “Prince of foxes, whom I will now insure goes on to be the fattest and happiest fennec who ever lived, for the service of saving our sorry rear-ends and being the beautiful and noble creature that he is.” 

 

Tod took the moment to lick his tongue up his own nose. 

 

“That last part is a work in progress,” I amended.

 

The girl giggled, then turned and whispered something into her brother’s ear. “She wants to know if she can pet him,” the brother recited dutifully.

 

I furrowed my brow, looking down at the little fox thoughtfully. He was watching my face intently. “You know, I’m not sure. Let’s find out?”

 

The father pulled his hand away from his face to watch his daughter pick her way over to us, hand cautiously outstretched.

 

Tod tensed as she got close, but I hummed and ran a hand down his back, warning the girl to move slowly. He watched warily as her fingers first touched his fur, but he relaxed as she slid her hand along him more confidently, finding that place behind his ears that he liked. I gave Tod a reward scritch under the chin, and he let out a little _prrrrrl._ The girl beamed, giggling again, and looked back at her father. The man eased, losing some further tension I hadn’t realized he’d had. Understandable, since he was letting his daughter approach a strange and possibly feral wild animal. Not to mention the fox.

 

Shut up, I’m hilarious.

 

“We’ve been introduced to your noble beast, friend, but it seems the rest of us have fallen on our manners,” the man noted. “I am Arlen. These are my children. My handsome son, Ilduvan—” 

 

“ _Father_ ,” Ilduvan said in that tone of voice naturally acquired by anyone between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. 

 

“—And my lovely daughter, Adahlena. Lena, love, come help an old man to his feet?”

 

Tod decided he had had enough time being the star of the moment, and started climbing up towards my shoulder. I obliging picked him up, standing so I could tuck him into the hood, and turned back to the others. They were watching me quietly, like I was some strange creature they didn’t know what to make of. Not threatening, maybe, but definitely odd. Which, I supposed, was pretty much what I was. 

 

“Meg,” I supplied belatedly. “Is me. I’m Meg. It’s, uh, nice to meet you now that no one is trying to kill us.” In my defense, this was my third near-death experience of the day. I was getting a little punchy.

 

Arlen chuckled weakly at that, apparently just as pleasantly surprised at our survival as I was. “We owe you a debt for that, Miss Meg. You’ve done a great favor for me and my family.”

 

He stepped forward, offering his hand, and in the sudden absence of life-threatening circumstances, it finally struck me that I was in the middle of my first introduction with a group of people from another world. 

 

Specifically, elves. Actual, 100% no-human-added elves.

 

Sweet Tolkien, Father of Fantasy— holy _crap._

 

_Don’t stare at the ears,_ I told myself firmly, reaching out to grasp his hand. _Or tell him to ‘Live long and prosper.’ Or stare at his ears._

 

It was strange, though, finally getting a chance to take in his features and those of the kids. They were far from the ethereal creatures of Tolkien’s writings, and certainly nothing like the house elves of Rowling’s. They looked like people, with scars and blemishes and slightly crooked teeth or lopsided noses. Arlen was greying at the temples of his brown hair, a color that had clearly been passed to his children.

 

At the same time, there was an element of _otherness_ to them, something that pinged in the back of the brain. A shift in the angles of their faces and the alignment of their features, like they were cast from a slightly different mold than humans. More sharp— more _fae,_ maybe. All framed by the sharp points of their ears. 

 

Aaaand I was staring at his ears. Dammit, Meg.

 

Coughing a little awkwardly, I tried to recover from my rather blatant faux-pas. “Don’t mention it. Really.” I grinned wryly. “I guess you could say I was just in the wrong place at the right time.” 

 

No, really, I’m hilarious.

 

He _must_ have noticed the staring, but the ‘Life-saver’ status must have really bought me some credit to burn because he just gave me a patient look and didn’t mention it. “Whatever the reason, I will remember what you have done.”

 

It seemed rude to say ‘Actually, I almost didn’t say anything and stayed hidden in the hills,’ so I just shifted, feeling a little flustered, and jerked my head over to the road. “I think they left some stuff. Want to check it out?”

 

Thankfully, he permitted the clumsy change of topic, and we made our way out of the ruins to the area the wagon had been, Lena reaching out to take Arlen’s hand as we went.

 

I saw Arlen stumble at one point, wincing. Duva caught him under the arm, then frowned. Sliding his other hand up to press against his father’s ribs, his eyes narrowed briefly in fierce concentration. There was a little tingle in the air and a burst of cool, clean scent, like pines in the snow, before both faded and it was just hot, muggy Hinterlands again. Then they started walking again like nothing had happened, but I noticed Arlen seemed to be holding himself a little less stiffly.

 

_Huh_.

 

The templars had dumped out some chests and other items in an attempt to lighten the wagon for travel. Crockery, furniture, and various bits of clothing littered the road. At a glance, most of it looked broken or ruined in some way.

 

The family stood there for a moment, taking in the scene. Surrounded by the remnants of their lives - it made for a sad sight.

 

“I’m sorry,” I offered quietly.

 

Arlen glanced at me like he’d forgotten I was there, then shook his head. “They were just things, da’len.” He paused, Lena tugging at his hand with a tearful look, and he sighed. “Yes, they also took Poppy, my love. It sorrows me to think of how those ba— bad men will treat her.”

 

I had a sudden rush of recollection, and snorted before I could stop myself. “Sorry,” I said, waving my hand at their affronted looks. “No, it’s just— Right before we hid, I got a few moments alone with Poppy’s harness and a sharp knife. Those straps probably won’t hold up for much longer, and Poppy didn’t seem like she wanted to stick around.” I smirked. “Do you think they’ll leave the wagon behind, or make each other stand in for a mule?”

 

Arlen began to laugh. “Did you hear that, da’len?” he said, shaking her hand a little. “Miss Meg cut the harness so Poppy could get away.” 

 

Ilduvan shook his head at me. “When did you even think of that?” he said incredulously. 

 

I shrugged. “I like to take inspiration from the moment.”

 

Ilduvan was still muttering to himself as we picked through the remaining items for whatever was salvageable. Despite Arlen’s dismissal, the mood was somber by the time we packed up the few things, mostly shirts and cups, that would still be usable. 

 

“I’m sorry, father,” I heard Ilduvan say quietly while I helped Lena repack her bag with what wouldn’t fit in the other two. 

 

Arlen sighed and settled his hand on his son’s shoulder. “It was not your fault, my son. I have no regrets.” His grip shifted, moving up to grip the back of the boy’s neck. “It is good to have you with us again.”

 

“Done,” I announced, interrupting the pair while I tied off the pack. Giving it a critical eye, I noted, “It looks a bit heavy for Lena.”

 

Arlen came over, leaving Ilduvan to finish their own repacking. He looked over the pack, then sighed. “It does, but I am loathe to leave anything else behind.” He turned to me, considering. “Forgive me, but I noticed you have no pack of your own. Are you a local here?”

 

The absurdity of the question— or rather, its answer— startled a bark of laughter from me. “Oh no, I’m not local. I, uh, wasn’t exactly expecting my own little adventure and wasn’t prepared. I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants since then.” Oops, weird idiom. “Improvising,” I clarified, at his baffled expression.

 

“It may not align with your own plans, but if you are heading towards Lothering, I would offer that you travel with us, friend,” he offered. Which was… rather nice, actually. Though not exactly useful to me. “With the dangers on the road and chaos, there is safety in another set of eyes, and you have already proven yourself a sure companion. Though,” he amended, “I am no longer certain of our ability to get there. The templars have made off with most of our food and supplies, and I can no longer be sure of the opportunity to purchase more between here and there.” He trailed off, eyes heavy as he looked at his children.

 

An idea tugged at me. “Actually…” I said slowly, “I was trying to get to the Crossroads. I believe there is a refugee camp set up there for the local farmers and travelers like us. It won’t be pleasant,” I warned. “And I can’t guarantee it will be safe. But it may be a better option than hoping for some luck later on down the road.” I allowed a small smile. “And who knows, maybe someone will come along and bring a little order back to these parts?”

 

Arlen looked at me, then nodded slowly. “You have a point. I have my doubts that anyone can salvage this madness, but there is no use in seeking danger on the roads. The Crossroads is very near - we can at least get a chance to sleep easily before seeking other options. We shall accompany you there. Thank you,” he added, but I waved a hand at him. 

 

“Hey, you’re the one picking up the dead weight who didn’t even bring a pack with her.” Or at least I thought I hadn’t. For all I knew, I had a backpack of survival gear chilling in the Fade somewhere. Not that I could remember. Amnesia is a bitch. 

 

His face got very scrunchy all of a sudden. “You’ve had no supplies at all? When was the last time you ate something?”

 

“Ah, well—” I started, unsure how to answer. I didn’t really know _,_ after all. 

 

Apparently, I took too long to answer, because he immediately bent over and reached into the bag I’d just packed.

 

Which is how I ended being practically force-fed my first meal in Thedas. Nothing fancy, just some dried fruit and meat and hard tack, but as soon as I took my first bite, it occurred to me that I was _starving_ and practically inhaled the rest, chasing it with a swig of what tasted like very watered wine from the waterskin Arlen handed me.

 

It occurred to me afterwards that eating food from other worlds generally wasn’t a good idea in most tales. I didn’t feel changed or bound against my will, though, and while it had been _Oh my god I’m so hungry_ good, it hadn’t tasted so good that normal food would be as ash in my mouth, so I mentally shrugged and decided to let it go. Step One had included not dying before finding a way home, after all, and starving to death would be very counter to that plan.

 

Everyone was done packing by the time I finished my food, and quickly bent down and swung Lena’s pack onto my back. Tod grumbled at being jostled, and so I pulled him out and passed him to Lena. “If he starts acting excited, or anxious, or angry, or anything other than happy and relaxed, you give him to me, got it?”

 

She gave me a solemn nod, but her eyes sparkled with excitement. Tod, for his part, gave me a dirty look I elected to ignore, but he didn’t seem actually displeased with the little girl’s attentions.

 

I stepped up next to Ilduvan with a nod, and with a gesture from Arlen, we started down the road to the Crossroads.

 

I may or may not have started humming _The Wizard of Oz_ as we went _._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! Post number two. Things are about to get more exciting! Well, in my opinion anyway. Thanks for reading, don't be shy about commenting or critiquing, and I'll see you all next time!


	6. Crossing Roads and Burning Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Meg is really bad at flying casual while not looking like she's flying casual, and a quest objective is achieved.

For all my previously stated desperation for some sentient company, now that I had it, I found myself at a bit of a loss.

I mean… what could I say? Well, plenty, I suppose, but if you cut out the classic casual conversation no-nos  (politics, religion, sports, etc) and anything that made me sound like raving lunatic (ahaha, oh my god, so much), the conversational well got a lot drier. 

The weather? _Why, yes, it_ is _a lovely day to run for our lives from homicidal maniacs._

Literature? _Brother Genitivi’s work? I’ve adored all fifty or so random pages I’ve read in the codex entries. Say, did he actually survive discovering the Temple of Sacred Ashes with the Warden in this reality?_

Their reason for traveling? _Oh dear, your house/farm/village was destroyed/invaded/robbed? Damn, that sucks. Oh, me? Nah, I just fell out of a rift after being dropped in the Fade from an alternate reality. Pretty sucky too, yeah._

Recent events? _So what do you think of the Breach…? Oh. Now really, all that screaming cannot be good for your health._

“So,” I finally settled on, “Lothering, huh? What’s it like there?”

Thrilling, I know. Well, _you_ try making inter-dimensional small talk for the first time and see how you do.

“To be honest, I don’t rightly know anymore,” Arlen confessed. “Our family began in Lothering, but we moved to Redcliffe’s village after the Blight. There was better work for a carpenter of my skills, but with Lothering rebuilt and the mage rebellion come to the village, I decided that it would be safer to return.”

“Ah, not exactly a great time to travel,” I pointed out delicately.

The man made a face, running a hand tiredly through his hair. “We had planned to go while the fighting was stopped for the Conclave. The roads had been quiet, it seemed, once the negotiations had been announced. We set out yesterday morning, but when night fell…” he shook his head, glancing at the sky to the west. “We tried to go back, but the village had closed the gates and refused us entrance. Too afraid of templars and _demons_ to heed an old man and his children _._ ” He sighed. _“_ I am not sure what madness has befallen the world now, but it bodes ill to us all.”

“You’re not wrong,” I muttered, a little distracted.

So the Breach had opened last night? But I didn’t wake up in the Fade until this morning. How long had I spent unconscious on the other side? Or was there some wibbley-wobbley time stuff going on? 

I supposed my coming here could have been unrelated to the Breach entirely, but how many singular and unrelated distortions of reality could you accept before it got absurd?

Well, zero, really, but apparently no one cares for my opinion on the matter.

Oh, and on another note - the Breach had opened _last night?_ Dear lord, how long was it until the Herald arrived? A week? _Two weeks?!_

My skin was already crawling at the number of showers I would not be getting. Ugh.

I didn’t realize Ilduvan had asked me a question. “I’m sorry?” I said, blinking back to the moment.

Ilduvan was looking at me with a curious expression. “I said, if you aren’t from the Hinterlands, how did you come to find us?” He arched an eyebrow towards Lena and her ride-along. “And with a fox, too.”

I chuckled a little. “Well, the fox is new. He just found me this morning and refused leave, the more fool he. As for the rest? Well,” I pondered for a moment, then sighed. “I suppose I got lost. I got very, very lost.”

Ilduvan eyed me. “That’s foul luck, in a place like the Hinterlands.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” I agreed cheerfully.

“Did you come here with your family? Your parents, perhaps?” asked Arlen. _Did I come here with— Alright, hold the phone._

“Okay, I _have_ to ask. Do I actually look like a child?” I asked, with no small amount of incredulity and maybe some concern. I mean, I didn’t _think_ I looked any different than I did back home, but I didn’t really know how this whole dimension traveling thing worked anyway and oh god, what if I somehow didn't notice?

I’m not sure I could take a case of body dysphoria on top of everything else.

Arlen, for his part, looked startled. “I—Forgive me, I just — humans of your stature are usually rather young, I understand.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joe’s Lobster Shack. That was all? Because I was _short?_

I resisted the urge to drawl ‘ _Wow, you really_ don’t _have Asians here, do you,’_ because no one would understand and also racial stereotyping is bad and blah blah blah _but really._

When I gave it some thought, though, it kinda made sense. Humans had all been pretty uniformly tall in the game. I had assumed that was just the game designers being lazy, but if that actually held true here, then I was very far below average. Easy enough to be taken for a child at a glance. Add that to my _youthful face_ , as some people had called it back home, and well…

There was the fact that I was not actually very child-shaped, but in my brother’s oversized windbreaker, that probably wasn’t very obvious.

And oh, boy. I had a sudden premonition that I was going to be having this conversation a _lot_. _Wonderful._

Although heck, maybe I should just start calling myself some kind of mutant dwarf. Oh! A hobbit. I could totally be a hobbit. It’d be a great excuse to eat as much as I wanted.

For now, though— “I solemnly swear, I am actually an adult and have been for several years,” I said dryly. “I could prove it to you, but I think that would be uncomfortable for all parties involved.”

Arlen coughed, flushing. “That, ah, won’t be necessary, no.” Lena looked confused and Ilduvan looked outright scandalized. Poor boy. 

Arlen seemed more than ready to let the conversation go, but Ilduvan, after fidgeting a bit, frowned at me. “But how did you come to be here?” he pressed. “You are very strangely dressed, and you have an unusual accent. Are you Antivan? Maybe from one of the islands near Rivain? I’ve never seen a human who looked quite like you.”

“My, but you do know how to make a girl feel special,” I said brightly. “I moved around a lot as a kid, so my accent has always been a bit odd. My clothes were just what I had with me, but they do the job, so I can’t complain. And I’ve been told I resemble both my parents and my brother a great deal.”

Ilduvan scowled at me. “That,” he accused with a petulant edge to his voice, “is not an answer.”

“Duva,” his father groaned.

“Father, she _is_ odd.”

I felt a little prickle of irritation. I know, it wasn’t really fair to blame the boy for being curious about things _I_ was still dying to know or for thinking I looked a little weird because _hey, no Asians_ , but I had had a long day already and didn’t want to be pestered with questions I couldn’t answer.

“Look, kid, I’m not sure how they raised you in the Circle,” I said frankly, “but when someone repeatedly avoids a question, it’s usually a strong hint that they’re not going to talk about it.”

Ilduvan stopped walking, eyes wide, and his father stumbled a moment later.

“That’s not—“ Arlen stuttered. “We were just—“

They looked actually frightened. Because I had…? Oh. Dammit, Meg. “I— you don’t have to explain,” I interrupted, holding up my hands. Now I felt guilty. “It really doesn’t matter to me, and I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” And it really didn’t. So what if the boy wanted to leave the rebellion? You can hardly fault the father or son for seizing the opportunity, and honestly, it was a pretty smart idea, considering all that does or could happen in Redcliffe in the future. Offering an unhappy smile, I said, “Secrets can be dangerous. I understand.”

Arlen swallowed hard, glancing between me and Ilduvan, and then he nodded. We started walking again. After a few minutes, I started asking Arlen about his home in Lothering, wondering idly if he he’d lived there when the Champion did, or had chanced to see the Warden on that fateful day. We moved on to chat pleasantly about Lena growing up in Redcliffe. She had apparently had a predilection for small woodland creatures from a young age, and who knew squirrels were that crazy for oatcakes?

The mood was, strangely, more relaxed than before. 

There was a lull where I watched Tod hop to the ground and dart around across the road in front of us, sniffing at flowers and chasing butterflies. I looked over and found myself walking next to Ilduvan.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, glancing at me. “I didn’t mean to push.”

I thought about it, then I shrugged. “Nah,” I said wryly. “You were a bit blunt, but I was the one being the asshole.” 

He seemed a little shocked at my choice of phrase , but smiled back a me. Then he sobered. “You must know, you _are_ very strange. People will notice, and be curious.”

Yeah, no kidding. So much for pretending to be a ‘normal’ human. I couldn’t even manage that for the random bystanders. I was probably down to trying to work ‘harmless, but a little touched in the head’ as my best bet. Well, at least that should come naturally. 

I sighed, kicking a little rock to send it skittering down the road. “I suppose I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.” 

That got a baffled and somewhat alarmed look, but I threw in a little wink and Ilduvan shook his head, clearly giving up on trying to fathom my weirdness. After that, I caught up to Lena and spent a little time making it up to Tod for abandoning him to his adoring public. A spoiled little prince already. 

It came to me in a passing thought, as the afternoon wound down, that this was actually kind of… nice.

 

 ~ ~ ~ 

 

Given the way my day had been going, I was fully expecting us to run into something terrible and probably lethal after about the first mile or so; the apostates, maybe, to round it out, or the mercenaries, or maybe just bears and wolves to revisit an _old favorite._

I must have met my quota of awful, adrenaline-filled experiences, however, because we didn’t meet anyone at all. A lot of abandoned houses, some of them still smoldering; an overturned wagon, already picked over by scavengers both bipedal and otherwise; and one hut in seemingly good condition that felt _off_ somehow. It also had a weird smell around it, a sharp, burnt scent like lightning-struck earth mixed with the cloying sweetness of overripe fruit. Ilduvan urged us past quickly, face pale, and got no arguments from the rest of us. Once the hut was far behind, I rubbed my nose vigorously to clear it.

So it was that, miraculously unmolested, we reached the Crossroads just as the afternoon was tipping into evening. 

It was… less than I was expecting.

We had just rounded a hill beside a patchy and overgrown wheat field, only to find ourselves suddenly greeted by a haggard pair of guards. They both looked barely older than Ilduvan, maybe nineteen-ish, and clutched their bows in a way that suggest the young men weren’t quite sure they belonged there. They took in our sweaty, soot-covered state, and waved us through without a question. 

I suppose that had been the first sign.

The camp proper was a sad collection of blanket-ringed campfires and some scattered, muddy tents gathered around the few actual buildings at the crossroads. There was what was clear a makeshift triage area on the other half of the area, that spot where you have your first conversation with Mother Giselle in the game. People were milling about, sick, injured, shellshocked, all faces grim or despondent, and everywhere we looked was some further evidence of misery.

Tod, who was in my hood again by this point, sniffed a few times, made an unhappy sound, and turned around, his tail fluffing into my face.

_Kit, I agree entirely._

Well. _Quest Completed: Reach the Crossroads!_ at least. A real shame it was so… It was all just so…

Christ, I couldn’t even think of a joke.

Some decent soul finally saw our lost expressions and took pity on us. “Go talk to Owen,” he said roughly, shifting the pile of firewood in his arms. “He’ll sort out space and tell you where’s what. If you have any sick or hurting, the healer and Sisters will do what they can, but there’s not much left in the supplies the Mother brought with her. Maker watch over you.” He gave us a last look over, then shook his head. “Maker watch over us all,” he muttered, walking away.

Well, that seemed _promising_. More helpful than the guards had been, though, so we went in search of this ‘Owen.’

Owen, as it turned out, was a grizzled older fellow with a voice that sounded like it had been dragged over gravel and a face to match. He had apparently been an officer from Ferelden’s army before he retired to take up farming a couple decades back. He was the one in charge of most of the grittier aspects of the refugee camp, I gathered, like digging latrines and making sure there were guards keeping watch. 

Owen also happened to be an asshole.

“Knife-ears, eh?” he grunted with a sneer, limping slightly as he led us on a little tour of the camp. He glanced over the group, eyes catching on me and giving me a slightly different sneer, but he didn’t say anything otherwise. “There’s not too many of your kind here, so you’ve got no special spot to keep to yourselves. You’ll go where there’s room and you’ll like it.”

Ilduvan turned bright red, but Arlen just nodded stoically with the ease of long practice. Neither spoke, so I held my tongue. But damn. 

“Over there’s the latrines. Everyone able-bodied helps when time comes to dig a new one. Don’t go anywhere else or you’ll spoil the water. The well is between the buildings over there, the healer, Bernard, lives in the one on the left and that,” he jerked his head to the triage, “is where the Mother and her Sisters are set up. They’re in charge of food. I suggest you give what you got to them. You can try to keep it but,” he shrugged. “No one’ll steal from the Mother. Otherwise, keep your head down and don’t cause trouble.” And with that, the old bastard limped off, pausing to yell something at some other man trying to set up a tent. 

“Well,” I said, staring blankly at the muddy, smelly place that was supposed to be home for the next unknown number of days until the Inquisition arrived. “…This sucks.”

Arlen sighed, leading Lena over to the nearest open space that seemed less muddy than the rest, and dropped his pack. Ilduvan was still staring red-faced after the grizzled old man, mouth twitching slightly like he was trying not to speak.

I walked over to Arlen. “It’s not too late to leave,” I said to the older man quietly.

He shook his head. “Look around you, friend,” he replied softly. “None of these people choose to be here. They are caught, just as we are, by the fighting and the madness. Some of these wounded have just arrived today. If we could avoid the roads entirely, perhaps there would be a chance, but with dwindling supplies and Adahlena so young…” he shook his head, looking to me. “I fear it is as you said. We must wait here, and hope there comes a break in the chaos.”

And with that he settled down and began to unpack.

Well, great. Guess I made the right call. I don't believe I’ve ever more regretted being right in my life.

The food he sorted out first, taking the best of it and shoving it into our hands. I tried to protest and he gave me a Look, unrelenting until I obediently took an enormous bite of dried meat and cheese, and then another. Choice bits of the meats were offered to Tod, who took them as his due. “Spoiled little prince,” I muttered. He gnawed on my thumb in reply.

Once we had all eaten as much as we could stomach, Arlen piled the rest into Lena’s little bag and handed it to me. “I would be grateful, friend, if you would give this to the Mother for safekeeping,” he said.

I took it reluctantly. “She’ll just give it out to someone else,” I pointed out. “There’s no way she’ll save food just for one family.”

“Then she shall give it out, and maybe there will be fewer hungry bellies for a day,” he replied calmly. 

“Father, this is not fair,” Ilduvan protested, his hands clenched.

“Hush, Duva,” Arlen admonished. “Perhaps it is not fair. It is not fair that we should lose our food and it is not fair that the templars took our things and is not _fair_ that we should be trapped with these people and share the uncertainty of their fates.” He words had picked up in intensity, and he took a breath, stilling himself. “But here we have food to feed a few more hungry bellies, and a need before us. Do not worry for the fairness of what we cannot change. See instead the good of what we can do. Now go find some firewood. The evening will soon grow chill.”

Ilduvan walked away, stiff-legged and pale faced. Lena sat in the dirt with a well-fed and sleepy Tod, not looking at any of us. I clenched my jaw and turned away, pack in hand.

“Oh, take these with you,” Arlen stopped me, offering a bundle of clothes. “I packed for Ilduvan, but I forget he is much taller than I remember. Perhaps these shall fit you better.”

I reached out a shaky hand and took the bundle. I looked down at it for a moment, feeling the rough homespun fabric in my hands. “You are a good man, Arlen,” I said quietly. “You deserve better than all this.”

He gave me a surprised looked, and then smiled softly. “Ah, friend. I have loved a beautiful and kind woman who bore me two beautiful and kind children, and now again I am able to stand with both of them at my sides. In spite of all that has happened, I think I am not so poor after all. Now go,” he said gently. 

I walked away, feeling off-kilter from the conversation. Unsettled. The pack of food and bundle of clothing weighed heavily in my hands. _Although_ , I paused as I passed the entrance of the main road, beyond which I could see a copse of trees, _not as heavily as I expected._ I flipped open the pack and peered into it. Arlen had originally packed generously for his family, but after today’s meals and an extra mouth to feed, there wasn’t really much food left over. A couple days’ worth for one person, maybe more if you were sparing. 

Gnawing at my lip, I looked down at the bag, considering.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Crazy updates, I know, but I ended up getting sick this week and spent pretty much an entire day trapped at home with my laptop. A lot of writing got done! Of course, now I will have to do some careful editing to ensure it wasn't just the fever typing, but still!
> 
> On the plus side, early update again! Apologies for the exposition chapter, but things are going to start happening soon and I'm really trying to find the balance between keeping things moving and the necessary introductions, explanations and set up for things to come.
> 
> There are a few things I try to do in this chapter, and I'm not sure how they come across, but if something jumps out at you as weird or awkward, sing out!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Any feedback is delightful and constructive criticism heartily encouraged.


	7. What Warms the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Building fires and broken circles.

I got back to our little camp with my old clothes under one arm and and a bundle of firewood under the other. I suspected Arlen had been lying about the clothes, honestly. They were a bit loose on me and I’d had to roll up the hems of the trousers a couple times- probably plenty large enough to accommodate Ilduvan’s lean frame.

Sneaky old man. Still, cleaner than what I’d been wearing.

True evening had started to settle over the camp, and a nipping chill had come with it, making me shiver. My windbreaker was great at doing just that, but it didn’t really do much to keep out the cold. Note to self: do try to pack a fleece the next time you get yourself dropped into an unindustrialized alternate reality.

Arlen and Ilduvan had already dug a shallow pit and set up a scaffold of wood for the fire. I set down my firewood with the rest as Arlen walked his son through steps of fire-starting without flint or matches or whatever people around here usually used. Judging by Lena’s bored expression, they had been at this for a while. 

“Ah,” Arlen said, eyes lighting on the new firewood in the pile. “A good thought. I suspect the nights shall be even colder than I anticipated.” He came over to help me sort the wood into piles for different sizes. 

Ilduvan took the moment of his father’s inattention to dart a furtive hand into the tinder. There burst of fresh scent in the air, tinged with smoke, and a little thrum, like the lightest pluck of a stringed instrument. A moment later, a healthy blaze crackled to life. The boy gave a pleased smirk, then noticed me watching.

_I saw that,_ I mouthed. 

Casting a desperate look at his father, he mouthed back, _Don’t tell?_ They really must have been trying to light that fire for a while.

I gave Lena, who had also been watching, a cheeky wink. She giggled, smothering it under hand. To Ilduvan, I mouthed, _And what will you give me if—_ I coughed quickly, covering my mouth, as Arlen turned back to us. 

“Now if Duva can only get the—“ He broke off as he saw the crackling fire. He took in Ilduvan’s sudden fascination in picking out the next wood for the fire, my innocent expression, and Lena’s suppressed giggles. He sighed. “I am so pleased to see you have finally mastered so vital a skill, Duva,” he said dryly. “Of course, you will have practice it often, to ensure the skill is maintained.”

Ilduvan cleared his throat, “Ah, yes, father, of course.” He shot the man a sheepish grin. Arlen shook his head, a helpless little smile on his own mouth. 

“Just be careful, _da'len_ ,” he murmured as he passed his son to tuck Lena into bed. He went to his own shortly after, groaning a little as he settled onto the ground.

It had already been decided that I would share a bedroll with Lena, all the better to fight off the chill. I found, however, that as exhausting, terrifying, and painful as the day had been, I didn't want to sleep yet. Without even a tent overhead to shut out the strangeness of my surroundings, I felt exposed and uneasy. I was also missing my memory foam mattress _so much_.

I guess, honestly, I was a little worried about falling asleep, too. The last time I’d been to the Fade, I’d almost vomited up my insides, possibly literally. The only reason I’d survived was a series of unlikely interventions that were being happily shoved into the folder of _Things We Are Not Thinking About Right Now._  

“ _Be wary when you return - not all denizens of the Fade are as kind and generous as myself.”_

Yeah, thanks, some great advice, random Fade dude. _Not_.

I also didn’t know if my unregistered alien status would affect anything. Hell, maybe I wouldn’t be able dream at all, like the dwarves. That wouldn’t be too bad, I guess, given the possible alternatives: death, possession, insanity, etc. 

Exactly the kind of thing you want to think about before going to sleep, right? _Christ_.

I ended up sitting next to the fire by Ilduvan, Tod a warm, dozing ball of fur in my lap, and stared broodingly at my bedroll. At least until the stars began appearing in the sky.

They twinkled slowly into sight, one by one, glittering against the brightness of two half-moons. I couldn’t see the Breach from here, the horizon hidden by the hills, but I could still see its glow, the writhing green shifting slowly across the sky in a way reminiscent to an _aurora borealis_. 

It was a beautiful sky, breathtaking in the way we never see in the cities anymore, and so utterly alien. I was struck with a weightless sense of disorientation. My mind kept sifting through the unrecognizable patterns, trying to form them into familiar shapes. There - that one looked a bit like the Big Dipper, didn’t it? And there was a large cross of stars like Cygnus, the soaring swan. Orion’s belt was easy, three little stars, but I couldn’t find a match for Scorpio or the Pleiades, two of my other favorites from childhood.

It finally occurred to how absurd I was being, staring woefully at the sky and trying to futilely force it to familiarity, as if that would actually make a difference. I tore my gaze away, chuckled quietly, and rubbed my eyes with my hands.

One of our neighbors distracted me by snorting in their sleep and dropping off into a deeper, more resonant snore. _Lovely_. I made a face, turning to make some pithy quip to Ilduvan, when I noticed that I hadn’t been the only one staring at the sky like I’d never seen it before. “Not used to sleeping under the sky, I take it?”

“Curfew in the gardens was always well before nightfall,” he replied quietly, eyes still on the heavens. 

Somehow, that didn’t surprise me. I had a moment of internal debate. I mean, I knew I probably wouldn’t like the answer, but in the end I just had to ask. “What was it like? Living in the Circle, I mean.”

He laughed humorlessly, leaning back on his hands. “That is what everyone really wants to know, isn’t it? _Life in the Circle, The Ferelden Edition_. Was it awful? Wonderful? Peaceful? Cruel? Enough to explain away the evils of one side or the other in this war?” He tipped his head, following the streak of a shooting star. 

“And was it?” I prompted.

He glanced at me, then sighed. “It was a bit of everything, really, in my experience. Mostly boring. The same rooms and the same meals, the same ever-present eyes of the templars, only distinguishable by the changing lessons and the occasional loss or gain of a familiar face. I missed things, like the night sky or the smell of harvest season or the wind of a midsummer storm whipping across my face, but I was clean and well-fed and generally comfortable, and there were seemingly endless halls of knowledge for those that sought it - carefully monitored, of course, but available. Back in Redcliffe, some of the mages would speak of how they missed it, the comfort and routine.” He gave a dry chuckle. “I guess sometimes freedom seems a small price to pay for the certainty of a warm bed and a hot meal.”

“And do you miss it?” I asked softly.

Ilduvan was silent for a long moment, eyes falling to watch Arlen and Lena curled upon the other side of the fire. “Not anymore.”

Okay, yeah. I could buy that.

“Well,” he amended a minute later, “I guess I do miss the bed. And some of my lessons. And the books!” he added, gaining enthusiasm. “Rooms upon rooms of books and scrolls. I think you could read for entire lifetimes and barely touch a fraction of the Tower library. Not that it’s all worth reading,” he made a face. “Let me say that if anyone should hand you a copy of Enchanter Obreon’s _Treatise on Worthy Magicks As Heeded By A Good and Pious Andrastian,_ wait until they are out of sight and find the nearest fire.”

I laughed. “Your opinion is noted. I’m guessing religion wasn’t your favorite topic of study?”

He waved a hand in a ‘meh’ kind of gesture. “It wasn’t all terrible, once you got past the lessons taught by the actual Sisters. Some of the history is fascinating, and Brother Genitivi has a few good volumes on the founding of the Chantry and the Divines. Still, if you weren’t careful, you could ask the wrong person a question and spark a theological debate between the enchanters about the role of mages in the Chantry and those could last for _years._ We weren’t allowed to mention the word ‘service’ around Enchanter Olivia after the Debate of 4:34. She and Enchanter Axel still refused to be in the same room together since then.”

I boggled at that. “After all those years?” I said, incredulous. “They lived in a _tower_. That must’ve gotten complicated.”

Ilduvan snickered. “Oh, yes. Mealtimes were the best, because one would try to get there first so they could make the other wait. There was this one time involving a paralysis glyph and a minor ice mine near the kitchen entrance and the cook’s assistant and— Well. Everyone had cold porridge for a week after that and First Enchanter Irving finally talked to them about easing  the hostilities. He never made them stop completely, though.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Ewan always said that was because it was just a cover for their passionate secret affair, but then Ewan thought everyone was having a secret affairs.”

I quirked an eyebrow, interest piqued. “Oh? And who is this ‘Ewan’? He sounds like an entertaining fellow.”

To my delight, Ilduvan flushed dark enough to see even in the firelight. “Uh, nobody.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like a nobody,” I observed, amused.

“He’s a friend. _Just_ a friend.” He gave me a little glare. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

Well, there was no point in teasing him if he was going to be a grump about it. “Fine. If you say so. So what did you study when you weren’t burning terrible treatises or sparking decade-long theological feuds?”

He seemed to hesitate, shifting to stir the fire with a piece of wood, before he answered. “I wanted to become a healer,” he said eventually. “Ever since I found out that Mother was sick. I thought, if there was one thing that you could do with magic that was truly _good_ — but they won’t let you study that kind of magic until you’ve passed your Harrowing. Too much opportunity for _temptation,_ too much dangerous knowledge.” He shifted a bit, frowning. “I’m not really all that powerful a mage,” he confessed. “I can light candles, summon a barrier, and freeze a glass of water, sure, but I don’t really have a talent for the more dramatic workings. I’m especially bad in the offensive magics. A little bit of lightning or fire and I just lose my head, so they kept holding me back. I was even beginning to wonder…” he trailed off, hand coming up unconsciously to rub at his forehead.

_Oh._

I don’t think anyone needs a lecture on all the evils the Rite of Tranquility, so I won’t mince words. It’s _wrong_. Maybe some of the templars that performed it truly believed they were offering mercy from death or possession, and maybe some of the recipients believed that too, but a system that mutilated someone’s mind and enslaved them, and then dressed it up as some kind of salvation?

It was a lie. But when one became the monster in their own mind, it was only too easy to believe that oblivion was the only escape. 

“You’ve got it backwards, you know,” I said quietly after a long silence. “Strength isn’t about being good at something. It’s not about passing tests or impressing people or winning fights. It’s not even about being brave. Strength is just choosing not to give up, even when you’re scared or hurting, or crawling through the dirt. It’s about making the most of what you do have. And when you have nothing?” I looked down at my own clenched hand. “Then you smile at your demons, tell them to go fuck themselves, and do it anyway.” 

Granted, back home it wasn’t usually so literal in context. 

“I’m sure you’ve already faced plenty of _harrowing_ trials, Ilduvan,” I looked up to catch his gaze. “The fact that you’re still here is proof enough of how strong you are. Everything else is just a matter of,” I waved a hand, “practice, or opinion. And most people’s opinions are bullshit anyway. Including your own, sometimes.” 

Ilduvan stared at me, and then laughed a little. “That wasn’t quite how my instructors back at the Circle phrased their lessons on avoiding demonic possession.”

I shrugged. “I’m willing to bet that was the gist of it, though. Probably with more praying and inconvenient self-loathing. Skip that part and go straight to the cussing, it always worked better for me.”

He grinned. “Perhaps the Circle would have benefited to include you among the lecturers.”

“Ha,” I said dryly. “Somehow, I don’t think that would have gone so well. Besides, I’m missing a few important prerequisites for teaching in a magical institution.” _Like, say, magic. Or a teaching credential. Or an inter-dimensional work visa._

He hummed, still amused, but didn’t reply. We sat in silence for a time, listening to the wolves howl in the distance, letting the fire burn itself down.

“I asked, you know,” Ilduvan said out of the blue, just as I was contemplating throwing another branch on the fire. I blinked at him, confused. “When my mother was sick. I asked if they would send a healer to the village to see her,” he clarified. “She lived so close, after all, and it’s not like we mages had anything better to do. It wouldn’t have hurt anything, and there’s so much you can do with magic that a normal healer can’t. The First Enchanter said he would ask for me, but…” he looked down at his hands, fists curling and uncurling. “Nothing happened. No one was sent, and I was assigned my own templar guard to make sure I didn't try anything _foolish_ like escape to see her. I think they were talking about sending me to the Free Marches because I was too close to home. By the time I was permitted to get another message from home…” His voice went hoarse and he broke off, breath shuddering for a moment, then easing. Tilting his head back, he went back to watching the heavens, his eyes glittering with reflected starlight. “I really had forgotten how beautiful the sky was at night,” was all he said.

He was young, so very young, but seeing the shadows in his eyes, I realized that I had misjudged Ilduvan. I don’t think he had been allowed to be a child for a long time.

“I’m sorry about your mother, Ilduvan,” I said softly. 

He gave me a startled look, almost like he had forgotten I was there, then let out a quiet, pained laugh. “Me, too, I suppose.” He turned to me then, eyes gleaming in the firelight in that strange, cat-eyed reflection. “Call me Duva,” he said. “Please.”

I held out my hand. “Well met, Duva.” I quirked a grin. “It’s a pleasure to have not died with you.”

He snorted, a little brokenly, taking my hand. “Well met, Meg,” he returned. “And the week is young, yet.” 

I was going to say something undoubtedly witty and charming in reply, but an enormous yawn caught me off guard, which in turn made _him_ yawn, and we were both forced to reclaim our hands to cover our mouths. 

“Hmph. The week may be young, but the night is not,” he noted wryly. “And for all that I am not eager to sleep on the ground, it is time. Good night, Meg. May we meet to not die again in the morning.” 

Oh, right. Sleep. 

I muttered my own pleasantries and stirred the fire a bit while Duva took himself off to his bedroll. I was still reluctant to sleep, but the night was really starting to get cold and I couldn’t justify putting more wood on the fire just for myself. 

Time for bed, then. Yippee.

The chill was sharper than I expected once I moved out of the immediate vicinity of the fire, and I cursed a little under my breath as I stripped off my boots and windbreaker. Bundling the jacket and my clothes together carefully so nothing fell out of the pockets, I turned it into makeshift pillow. After that, I carefully slid under the blanket, trying not to jostle Lena or expose her to the chill. Tod, of course, wasted no time in burrowing right into the warmest spot in the blankets.

I must have been successful, since she didn’t stir, even with the determined heat-leech of a fennec shuffling about. I noticed, however, when the dying fire lit the dried, tear tracks on her cheeks. Quietly, I curled a little corner of the blanket and gently wiped them away, before tucking the blanket back around her and laying back.

The stars were still just as unfamiliar as before, shining overhead, but seemed somehow less alien. It wasn’t my sky, maybe, but it was someone’s. A sky that could be known, and missed. I watched those stars turn overhead as I faded in and out of a light doze, sliding up to the cusp of sleep only to pull away when I remembered what it could bring.

Finally, as the larger moon peaked directly overhead, I decided I had freaking had enough and that if I did happen to wake up as a raving lunatic or possessed monster than at least I could be a well-rested one. So I rolled over and told myself firmly to Go the Fuck To Sleep.

And, miraculously, I did just that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the late-ish post. They may be a little more spaced out for the near future (maybe) because the next few chapters have a lot of double checking for later continuity as I go on ahead and I've got some crazy weekends coming up. Plus work. Sigh. Being a grown up can be so hard.
> 
> As always, I love feedback, especially in the talky stuff. I'm not ashamed to admit that my strengths tend to lie more in snarky dialogue that emotional reflection.
> 
> Hope you guys aren't getting too bored yet. Next up, Meg spends a quick and easy week or so waiting for the Inquisition to show up! It's a delight! The Sisters serve hors d'oeuvres and the Templars and Mages decide to settle their differences through naked mud wrestling.
> 
> ...What? Don't you believe me?


	8. My Compliments to the Chef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food is terrible when there is no food (surprise!), people are people and therefore weird or troublesome , and Meg briefly contemplates the merits of becoming a wandering hillside hermit.

It was grey. The fog pressed close as it surrounded me, clinging and smothering. It resisted me as I passed through it, like the faint tug of spider’s silk against the skin. There was no scent, to taste, not smell. All that surrounded me was nothingness.

_“When… last anyone…”_

A snatch of voices drifted to me from somewhere beyond the fog. I turned, pushing forward, trying to follow it. 

_“…no way… wait for…”_

_“I can’t…call me…late?”_

I felt something go taut inside me, drawing me up short. I frowned, twisting against it. The voices were getting closer. If I could just a get a little farther, press a little harder against the fog…

“ _Did you hear something?”_

Almost there…

_“Hello? Is there someone th—”_

Something throbbed in my chest, spasming, and I was dragged from the grey place like the release of a catapult. 

 

_~ ~ ~_

 

I woke with a quiet breath, opening my eyes to a blur of purple, yellow, and green. I blinked fuzzily a few times, until the yellows and purples resolved into flowers. Wildflowers. Growing next to my pillow.

That was weird.

There was a shuffling sound, and I tilted me head to see Arlen moving around the fire, stirring the coals back to life. I stared at him blankly for a few moments before everything from the previous day sank back in.

“Oh, blubbery puss monkey _shite,_ ” I groaned, turning to bury my face back into my makeshift pillow.

Because that is what you do when you wake up and you are still trapped in a video game universe with an overlarge helping of danger and running and an unfortunate lack of hot baths.

Not to mention my _everything_ hurt _._

I uncurled myself slowly, feeling every bruise, scrape, and sore muscle from the previous day make itself known to me. I have definitely had kinder mornings.

On the plus side, I evidently did not lose my mind or become a possessed monster overnight. Nor did I seem about to start vomiting blood. I was going to count that as a win. Even if it felt like I might have lost a few rounds barehanded with a rock wraith at some point.

“Meg? Are you awake?” That was Arlen. Damn. I figured it would be a little too immature to pretend I was still asleep to postpone facing the brave new world, so I mumbled affirmative and crawled my way out from under the blankets. That took some doing, since Lena, as it turned out, was clearly not a elf at all but an octopus cleverly disguised in the form of a little girl.

I also accidentally upended Tod, who had moved in the night to curl up against my neck. He gave me an impressively cranky look and burrowed right back under the covers with the girl. Spoiled little pr- well, you get the idea. If I got to opt for reincarnation when I finally kicked it, I was obviously going to choose the cutest widdle fox you can imagine because they can get away with so much shit.

Arlen looked a little worried as he watched me hobble to my feet like an old crone. “‘m okay,” I yawned, “I just, nnnngh, need to stretch.”

“…If you’re sure,” he said doubiously. “I asked about, and the Sisters usually serve breakfast about half a candle’s inch after sunrise. You’ve a little time to…stretch.” I thanked him, and waved off his obvious urge to hover as I crept closer to the revived fire. I did indeed stretch, going through an old routine slowly and carefully, working out the consequences of doing an unexpected wilderness marathon and then getting far too little sleep on the cold ground.

As my body started to loosen up, my mind turned towards the dream I’d had last night— what I could remember of it, anyway. Grey fog and voices, feeling held back… That sounded more like an good old-fashioned anxiety dream than the Fade, did it? Or was it a newbie dreamer thing? Or maybe even… As I recalled, for the _muggle_ population of Thedas, dreaming didn’t seem to be all that different here from back home.

Maybe I had lucked out and things were finally taking a turn for the boring. Maybe I was just a run-of-the-mill dreamer. No traipsing through the Dreaming? Fine. Poor Random Fade Dude would just have to be disappointed.

 _Okay_ , so the ability to lucid dream in the Fade would have been pretty cool, but not at the risk of killing everyone because I had no idea what I was doing. Killing people because of stupidity is the epitome of uncool. Don’t be that guy.

Duva bedroll was empty, so I could only assume he was up and handling his morning elsewhere. Not _that_ sort of handling, you pervy bastards - well, okay, maybe, he is a teenage boy- you know what, actually, please forget I ever mentioned it. And please excuse me while I go boil myself in bleach.

I was grimacing to myself when I heard a sleepy grunt from the next little camp over and recognized it as the particularly resonant snorer from the previous night. Idly, I glanced over.

Two of the men staring blearily into the fire had the look of what I figured was your average Ferelden farmer: sturdy builds, blonde and brunette, moderately scruffy facial hair and pale skin lightly tanned from outdoor work. They didn’t look particularly interesting, otherwise, or particularly interested in their surroundings. 

The other two did not quite fit the Crossroads demographic so well.

“This country is nothing but rocks and mud,” stated a lanky, dark-complexioned man in a slightly accented voice. “And they were all piled under my bed. I hardly slept at all last night.”

“That,” came the sullen reply, “is a sodding a lie. Do you know how I know? Because _I_ didn’t sleep at all last night, thanks to your thrice-blasted snoring. You’re lucky I didn’t drown you in the nearest puddle.” The dark-haired dwarf grumbled blackly, huddling himself so close to the fire I thought his beard would burn.

The human sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t snore.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure women tell you you’re a wonderful lover, too. Provided you’ve already tipped enough, of course.”

The human just shifted, mumbling something defensively that sounded a lot like, “I don’t pay _all_ of them first.”

 _Wow, that’s just… damn. I hope for his sake he’s joking._ To be honest, it didn’t sound like he was joking.

I let out a _snerk_! of amusement, quickly smothered, and shook out my limbs. I had finally stopped feeling like a tangled slinky, happily. I’d probably be walking funny for a few days, but it didn’t seem like I’d actually managed to injure myself in any of the excitement yesterday. Damn impressive, if I do say so myself. 

Smirking to myself, I gave a final, toe-curling stretch, then paused, frowning. Beneath the achey muscles and stiff joints, I also felt…strained. Sore in ways that didn’t really fit under my skin, like sleeping badly on a phantom limb. _Especially where_ she _had…_  

I let the thought trail off, rubbing a hand uncomfortably over my chest. There were implications to that I really didn’t want to deal with at the moment.  

Arlen was now coaxing a groggy Lena out of bed. Lena and Tod seemed to share opinions on the ridiculousness of being awake at this hour, but eventually Arlen managed to cajole and, when necessary, physically lift the girl into a semblance of wakefulness. Duva reappeared, looking far too chipper for a teenage boy who had risen with the sunrise. He was carrying a battered bucket of water, from the well I presumed, and a fistful of twigs and roots. He blithely handed me a twig and I gave him a look that said clearly, ‘what the hell am I supposed to do with this, you crazy person,’ which prompted Arlen to show me how to chew the end to make a kind of toothbrush. 

I’m pretty sure I came across kind of how we imagine a D&D barbarian making their first encounter with a microwave. Duva kept shooting me these little glances of disbelief as I gave the most tentative nibble to my stick and Lena clearly thought my incompetence was the funniest thing ever. It worked pretty well, though, once I figured it out, and I ended up with a sparkling and foresty-tasting smile. 

Look at me, learning things. At this rate, I may become as self-sufficient as the six-year-old in no time. 

The roots apparently could be sorta mushed up with water to make a lathery soap, and so we all had a brief under-the-clothes wipe down. Let me say that few things invigorate you in the morning like a chilly wet cloth in your armpits. Not nearly as nice as a proper shower, but it felt good to wipe off at least one layer of filth.

All this moving about finally prompted a trip to the latrines, so I dug out Tod and my jacket and rolled everything else up in the blankets. I tucked the roll next to the little patch of flowers for reference and made my way to the, ah, area of fragrant relief. Whereupon I had the unfortunate realization that A) there were no individual stalls and B) there was no toilet paper. That led to me having a mutually mortifying conversation with Duva about the educates and practicalities of _going_ outside the urban environment. 

We both agreed afterwards that it was better for all parties involved to forget that conversation ever happened.

We had just gotten back when the synchronized sound of female voices began to drift over the camp.

_“…But the Lady took my hands from my eyes, saying, "Remember the fire. You must pass through it alone to be forged anew…“_

“Let me guess,” I said. “Breakfast?”

“Always with the chanting,” came the dwarf from the next fire over. “You humans and your not-singing. It’s creepy. And annoying.”

“Oh yeah? What about you dwarves? You worship _rocks_.”

“The Stone, thank you very much. And I’ll have you know that is a serious and dignified tradition. Just ask anyone in Orzammar. They’ll happily tell you it’s none of your business, right before they throw you out on your ass—”

“I believe it is breakfast,” Arlen affirmed to my question. “Shall we?” He’d said aside the washing leftovers to dig a few wooden bowls from his bag, and armed with dish ware, we made our way past the odd pair towards the crowd forming near the Mother’s hut. 

Everyone was sort of cat-herded into lines before three large pots, which the Chantry gals ladled from. I spied the bright outfit and, ah, _distinctive_ headdress of the Mother at the head of middle line, but my brain went _Errrr, too weird, nope_ and I stepped into line for one of the Sisters instead. Duva slipped up behind me, and Arlen steered Lena into the Mother’s line. 

The lines crept along, but there was plenty of distractions in the words being passed back and forth. Ah, food and gossip, the multi-universal pairing.

“—are saying that the Conclave was a trap for the Divine—”

“I heard the mages were the ones—”

“—damn spiders, ate my prize goat—“

“—the templars! They want to abolish the Chantry entirely—”

“—wolves started acting strangely last night—“

“—this rash, do you think I should ask the healer—“

“—heard it’s a doorway to the Fade, and that someone walked out of it.”

That one twigged my attention, and I shifted, canting my head to listen.

“—n’t be ridiculous. People don’t walk out of the _Fade_.”

“I heard it, just this morning! Some man from Haven. Said there was something else, too, I can’t remember, a woman or something…”

“She was probably a demon! Only demons and madness come from the Fade. As the _Canticle of Threnodies_ teaches us—“

I lost track of the conversation as the line shifted and I found myself before the Sister and her pot. She smiled at me with practiced serenity. “Good morning, child,” she said in a richly accented voice. “Come, and receive succor in the Maker’s embrace.”

Well. That was a rather unfortunate turn of phrase, wasn’t it? 

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “Right. Maker’s succor, awesome, thank you.” I held out my bowl obediently, and she ladled a spoonful of… something into it. Blinking into my bowl, I lifted it for a dubious whiff. “Oh _wow_ , that smells… interesting.”

Her expression flickered, almost wincing for a moment as she glanced down at the pot in her hands, then it smoothing out again. “Walk in the Maker’s li—”

Tod had finally stirred to wakefulness, probably curious about the smells of cooking, such as they were, and popped his head up suddenly over my right shoulder. I saw the Sister’s eyes go wide, gaining that manic light that people get when confronted with a particularly fine specimen of cuteness. “Oh! Is that a—“

“Oh, look at this line, got to go!” I said, deciding to beat a hasty retreat rather than face a potential horde of Tod’s adoring public, making my way down a low stone fence until I reached our little fire. I settled myself and held my bowl in front of me, tilting it this way and that. It was supposed to be stew, I thought. Grey, semi-congealed stew that probably made of whatever was left over from last night’s dinner plus whatever new they could throw in.. _I’m pretty sure this used to be a boot in a previous life,_ I thought warily as I poked at some of the unidentifiable… meat…thing.

Well, at least I had a handy dandy vulpine poison detector. I held it up to Tod’s face. “What do you think, safe to eat?” I asked him. He sniffed it a few times, sneezed, and turned right back around.

Okay, then. I started weighing starvation against the very real chance of dying from whatever was currently sitting in my bowl. 

_Ah, world traveling. Go to exotic new locations, meet exotic new people, try the local foods and hope you don’t get dysentery._

Duva came up to sit himself next to me with his own bowl, and his face said plenty for his opinions on breakfast. Arlen approached from the line, too, armed with both his and Lena’s bowls, and judging by her mulish expression, he was going to have quite the battle to get her to eat a bite. I wondered if he was regretting giving away the last of their food. Though, honestly, if all the food was this awful, Owen probably had the right of how bad it would be to be seen with a hoard of better stuff. Especially, well, being elves.

For now, though, there was nothing for it. Steeling myself, I raised the bowl to my lips. “I would like to offer apologies for every meal I ever turned away in my life,” I said to the sky, and then I gulped it down.

Yes. It was incredibly disgusting. We’ll leave it at that.

I finished blessedly quickly, shuddering as I set my bowl aside. Duva looked like he was still working himself up to it, and Lena had literally climbed the nearest tree to get away from hers. You had to admire her ingenuity. I watched Arlen try to talk her down from the tree to eat. I wasn’t betting on his success.

I was still trying to convince my stomach that I had given it _real food, honest_ , when I heard a noisy slurp behind me, and then the unmistakable sound of someone spiting into a fire.

“Blegh. Kid over there has the right idea. Shit tastes more like donkey piss every day.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” came the accented reply, “I think it’s a bit smoother today. More like dog piss.”

“Heh. Maybe it is. This is Ferelden, after all.” Another noisy slurp, and then a spit and sizzle.

Amused, I couldn’t help but tilt my head to quip, “You know, I’d ask how you came to be so educated in your palette for piss, but I’m not sure I want to know.”

The dwarf looked over at me, then eyed his companion. “At this point, I’d pay money to hear that tale. Maybe a live demonstration, too.”

The man opened his mouth for a hot reply then paused, eyes brightening. “Really? How much money?” 

The dwarf gave him a look of incredulous disgust. My eyes caught on the tattoos on his face, arching under one eye and over the other. 

He noticed. “What?” he grunted pointedly. “Never seen a dwarf?”

I quickly averted my gaze, offering a sheepish smile. “Would you believe me if I said I hadn’t?”

“Hn,” he said. “Maybe. Or believe you were too stupid to realize it. You humans barely seem to know your heads from your asses.”

I didn’t let my smile falter. “We can’t all use beards to help us distinguish them.”

He gave me a sharp look, then, and I tensed. Then he laughed uproariously. “Ha! You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen many dwarven asses. Heh.” He eyed me a bit more, then held out a hand. “Wighen. Call me Wigs."

I took his hand. “Meg.” 

He had large, powerful grip, heavily calloused but smooth and supple, unlike a laborer’s. Wigs didn’t smile at me as he shook my hand, but he gave me an approving sort of frown. I relaxed a little. I hadn’t noticed at first, since he was so plainly dressed and apparently unarmed, but there was something calculating about the way he kept watching the things around him. It made me think Wigs might not be quite as harmless as he appeared. That combined with the facial tattoos, and I could probably make a few educated guesses about his means of employment.

Which, y’know, _yikes_. Good thing he had a sense of humor. Maybe I really should learn to watch my tongue more.

Somewhere, somehow, my old 3rd grade English teacher was feeling incredibly validated in that moment and had no idea why.

“And I am Nico de Calvio,” interjected the human, and I finally took in the other strange character we were camped next to. 

He was probably Antivan, if I had to guess by the accent— which was, I noticed, markedly heavier than it had been a minute ago. He was a gawky scarecrow of a man with a highly-strung air, thin boned and leanly muscled, if he was muscled at all. He clothes had clearly seen better days, but underneath the tears and stains it was obvious he had chosen his clothes for a flamboyant air, if not an entirely tasteful one: faded teal and red leathers and a sad, half-crushed hat with a ragged, dropping feather. 

The Antivan man continued his introduction. “Some call me a poet, an adventurer, a man of the sea!” Doffing his bedraggled hat, he gave me an appealing smirk. “But you, my dear, can call me the man of your dreams.”

I blinked at him, and then burst into laughter.

Nico, ‘The Man of Your Dreams,’ de Calvio gave me a crestfallen look and sighed. “They always do that.”

“There, there,” the dwarf said with false sympathy. “Eventually one of them might laugh so hard they fall on you. The happiest three seconds of you life.”

“Now, hey,” I said, maybe feeling a _little_ bad about laughing at the man. “It wasn’t _that_ bad. Entirely. You could probably change things up a little. Maybe try sincere compliments or questions about their interests. You know, play the field a bit before you go straight to ‘man of dreams’.”

“Hmmm,” the man mused thoughtfully, and then sighed. “That sounds rather difficult and dull.”

Oh. Well, then. “In that case, never mind, you’re doing great,” I said dryly. “Women love a man that can make them laugh.”

Nico perked up. “Really?”

Uh oh. “You aren’t planning to start leaping out at women in strange outfits with a pocket full of cheap jokes now, are you?” I asked suspiciously.

He gave me a shifty look and focused into his bowl. “…No?”

Oh my god. Maybe I should just go back to having animals for company. At least then I only had to worry about man-eating bears, not terrible flirts, crazy people, and/or probable criminals.

I had both hands pressed over my face in uncomprehending despair when I heard a gagging sound behind me. I turned, concerned, to see Duva staring into his bowl with an expression of deep regret. “I think I felt something moving in that last mouthful,” he said. 

Oh… gross.

Wigs looked over and shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It was probably just a frog. They haven’t started adding worms yet. Last I checked, anyway, which was…,” he frowned a little. “Hn. Was it more of a leaping sensation or a squirming one?”

Duva turned a remarkable shade of green. “Excuse me, I—hrk—“ he managed before darting off towards the latrines. 

“It’s good protein!” Wigs shouted after him.

I eyed the dwarf. “Wigs, anybody ever tell you that you’re a complete bastard?”

He gave me a crooked toothed grin. “Every day since my father saw my face.”

“I’m not surprised,” Nico commented haughtily, and Wigs rolled his eyes so hard I thought he would hurt himself.

Shaking my head, I turned around, deciding to leave the two at it. Arlen had apparently given up on talking Lena down from the tree, setting aside her full dish and collecting the empty ones for washing.

Arlen’s face was drawn as he scraped the dregs out into the fire, but he smiled sincerely when I walked over. “No luck?” I asked him, nodding to the tree.

He sighed heavily. “She takes strongly after her mother, and in these times I find I cannot bear to curb her spirit. I will give her some time and then try again.” He looked past me to the other fire. “And what of you, making new friends?” he asked mildly. I couldn’t tell if he did or didn’t approve of my new acquaintances. 

“Making new… something,” I muttered, shrugging. “I don’t know how ‘friendly’ they really are just yet.” 

“It is good to know one’s neighbors when one can, yes?” he said with an amused look. “Even ones who are particularly…colorful.”

I hummed. “Well, you have a point. If we do end up drowning Nico in a puddle tonight and saying it was an accident, at least we know that Wigs will back us.”

Arlen made a face at me. “Meg, really.” 

“Oh, come on, even you have to admit that snoring was unbelievable.”

“That’s hardly reason to joke about—”

“Just a ‘Whoops, he must have slipped in night!’”

“That is quite inappropriate—“

“No one would ever know,” I stage-whispered solemnly, before smiling at the giggle from the tree.  “See? Even Lena agrees with me - or I think it was Lena. Maybe it’s just some enormous squirrel.” I walked over under the tree, feeling playful. “My, such big squirrels they have here in the Hinterlands! The Fox Prince better be careful, or he’ll get fat!” More giggles.

I reached up and pulled Tod from the hood. “Prince Tod, you are summoned to the hunt! You must vanquish the dreaded Dire Squirrel to preserve the safety of the land!”

Tod gave me a flat look. “Oh, come on, you lump,” I whispered, exasperated. “You're going to get playtime and pets, don’t give me that.” He sighed dramatically, but when I lifted him up to the tree, he leapt willingly enough to the branches.

Arlen and I tidied the rest of camp in short order, listening to the laughter and chittering in the branches. It was a little surreal, for a moment. The sound of elves, laughing the trees - I’m pretty sure there was a scene like that in the book _The_ _Hobbit_. Then the moment passed and it was just a little girl and a fennec, clambering their way around the limbs.

Eventually all that was left was Lena’s untouched bowl. She didn’t seem inclined to eat it any time soon. Which was bad. I was pretty sure that, so long as the food wasn’t literally poison, a child her age couldn’t afford to start skipping meals.

So I had an idea. 

I walked up under the tree. “Alas, Fierce and Noble Princess of the good people of Squirreldom, I must retrieve Prince Tod to eat his breakfast.” Lena froze, turning to give me a sad, pleading look. Damn, that was a good one. Fortunately, I managed to make my Will save this time. “It is vital that royalty keep up their strength, little princess. Perhaps you should come down and join him for his repast?”

She gave me a flat look then, clearly on to me, but Arlen stepped up next to me and said, “Please, Adahlena?” and after a long, stubborn moment, she reluctantly handed Tod down to me and dropped into her father’s arms.

Score one. Now for the actually tricky part.

I set up the food with great ceremony, all of us seated near the now dwindling fire. “The Prince of Foxes and the Dire Princess of Squirrels did chase each other for days and days. Their struggles raged up tree and into den across the land until, at last, they realized there could be no true victor and only ruin if they continued. Therefore did royal advisors approach with a proposal: the Prince and Princess would undergo the daunting trial of _Terrible Stew For Breakfast,_ ” I said with a gasp and dramatic shudder. Lena made a face, but was grinning at the antics. “Though a difficult task, if they could succeed, then peace would reign once more in the lands, for any who shared the meal were forever bound by ties of friendship.” And with that, I whipped out a spoon with a flourish and fished out a piece of meat for Tod.

He eyed the spoon, and me. “C’mon,” I said quietly, running a hand through his fur. “Just one piece.”

Nibbling a little at first, and then with more surety, he finally snapped up the meat and swallow it down. “Now your turn, Princess,” I said, offering the spoon. She looked at me, and quietly hopeful expression of her father, and sighed, taking the spoon.

The first bite was clearly the worst, and then she seemed to decide the best idea was to try not to taste it. I was more than a little concerned that she would choke, but when she paused after a few bites, it was only to lift a spoonful to my lips.

“Oh, no, I already had mine.” I said, surprised. “That’s for you, Lena.”

Her eyes flicked to Tod, and then back to me, and I understood, I thought. “Oh. In that case, thank you, Lena.” I reached out and took the spoon, choking down the mouthful, before I returned it.

It was actually even more disgusting when cold. That little girl was made of sterner stuff.

In the end, she couldn’t finish the whole bowl, but she got some of it down, which was better than nothing. I picked up Tod and said grandly, “And so was peace brokered between the two, and happiness eternal in all the lands!” before plopping him gently on her lap.

“Do I even want to ask?” Duva had come back with a bucket of water again, looking less green and more grim.

“Victory and peace in the Woodland Kingdom. We’re all very proud,” I supplied, amused. Lena grimaced a bit, but then grinned at me and passed Tod back, going to climb up another tree under Arlen’s watchful gaze. Duva gave an absent nod, but seemed distracted. “Ilduvan, is there something wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Well, yes, just— I heard to talk around the well. There are a lot of people hurt or getting sick right now because of the cold nights, and the healer is doing what he can, but…” His eyes trailed over to the Sister’s encampment. “I was thinking, maybe—“

“You could gather some extra firewood for the injured,” Arlen interrupted blithely. 

Duva sighed. “Father.”

“Many of the people here will catch chills in the night without it. It would be a good service to supply some to the others.”

Duva looked at him, and then down at his feet. “Yes, father.”

I glanced between the two of them. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Well, I’m on board with gathering firewood, so I guess I’ll just be over there by those trees now.” Arlen nodded pleasantly to me, settling down to mend one of the blankets, but he was still watching Duva carefully. Duva didn’t move, still frowning down at his feet.

“Nice show with the girl,” Wigs drawled as I went past. “I haven’t seen anything so cute since my sister found a litter of nuglets.” He hummed. “Felt like throwing up then, too.” 

“You are as honey to our bees,” Nico threw out, sighing, then frowned. “Or was it flies? Or was it salt? Hmm.”

I elected to ignore… all of that and said to Wigs, “Poor manly dwarf like you, maybe you need more exercise. Get in some real work. Care to haul some wood around for a few?”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. Sorry, sister, but I think I’ll stay here and be delicate. You can play good Chantry girl all you like.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, then shrugged. “As you like. Oh, I hope you enjoyed your breakfast. I heard some scavengers brought back a healthy bunch of slugs this morning.”

He snorted at me and waved me off, but I saw him eying his empty bowl suspiciously as I left. I grinned a little to myself.

The trees inside the camp were pretty thoroughly picked over, unless we were willing to start using green wood, so I made my way over to the copse of trees off the main road. The lookouts gave me a quick once over, then ignored me. I was left to work in peace, picking up larger sticks and pulling dead branches off the trees to pile them in the center of the copse. After a minute or so, I paused to let Tod out of my hood, and he had himself a little party darting about between the trees, chasing butterflies and poking his nose about to find lizards to munch or, on one memorable occasion, an absolutely enormous nest of spiders in a hollow log.

I was rather less pleased with this discovery than he was. 

It was simple work, and didn’t require any deeper thought or life-altering introspection. Exactly what I wanted at that moment.

When Duva finally joined me a short while later, he was scowling darkly. He didn’t seem to interested in explaining his delay, however, so I continued as I was without comment, listening to Duva mutter and snap branches to smaller sizes with more than strictly necessary before throwing them into the pile. After a bit, I started handing him some of my own larger pieces. Hey, some of those can be hard to break, I’m just saying.

This went on for fifteen minutes or so, until Duva turned abruptly and hurled a chunk of branch further into the trees. Tod pulled his head out of a hole in the ground, gave a curious glance around for the source of the noise, and went right back to his explorations. I eyed Duva askance. “You know, they don’t grow larger if you release them back into the wild,” I informed him.

“Father doesn’t want me to help the healer. He worries that it isn’t safe for me to reveal my magic,” he stated flatly. 

Oh. Well. I guess I did kind of deserve this after last night.

See, here was the downside of trying to give advice to impressionable young folk as if you have a clue what you are doing. They might then think you have a clue, and will come to you as a moral sounding board for arguments against the other, better qualified figures of authority in their lives.

And while it was easy to tell a young man to “Always be yourself!” after hearing his tragic life story of oppression in a campfire’s softening glow, it was a very different to encourage a teenaged victim of prejudice and abuse to risk exposing himself when literally gathering convenient fuel for a witch-burning.

“I don’t want to be the Debbie Downer,” I said carefully, “but, just for the sake of observation, I would like to point out that you _are_ an unHarrowed elven apostate in a camp of backwoods farmers, many of whom have lost their homes directly or indirectly because of magic. They are, ah, likely to be rather short-sighted in a few important ways.” Sure, maybe _certain_ elven apostates I know of could make that situation work for them, but I didn’t think the scenario usually went too well.

Duva scowled, kicking a stick back into the pile. “I _know_ that, I just—ugh!” 

He wasn’t going to drop this. Of course he wasn’t. I sighed, dumping the branch in my hands and sitting down on a rock to face him. “Look, Duva, what do you want me to say? That he’s wrong? That you should do everything you want and damn the consequences?”

“I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know! I just don’t want to sit around when I could be _doing_ something to help.”

“I’m pretty sure this is supposed to be helpful,” I said mildly, nodding to the pile of wood. “If not, I wish you had told me about five splinters ago.”

He rolled his eyes. “I mean really help, not just pick up _firewood._ I could be doing more. Don’t you want to do everything you can?”

 _Honestly? If I can just survive the next week or so, I’ll call that a win._ “This isn’t about what I want,” I said instead.

“But you understand, don’t you?” Something in his voice seemed to ring in my ears. “You helped us before.” He swallowed. “When— when that templar was going to kill me. That’s why you helped, right?”

I stared at him. _Oh no. Okay, brakes._ “Duva,” I said uneasily, twitching as if I could shrug off the weight in his words. “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t— I didn’t come here to _save_ anyone. Honestly, I’m kind of a selfish asshole, and I’m not even supposed to _be_ here. I’m not a hero, I’m just—“ I rubbed a dirty hand over my face. “I’m just trying to get home, okay?”

He looked at me for a long time, eyes hard. “I don’t believe you,” he said finally, and then grabbed an armload of wood and walked out of the little grove.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chant of Light is from Exaltations 1:1-1:14, for those of you may care.
> 
> Chapters are getting looooong. This one especially, since I couldn't find an earlier cutting point. Still likely to be slower updates for continuity editing, but chapters will likely be longer as a result.
> 
> If anything seems corny or awkward, or the pacing is off, sing out! 
> 
> Here is a video of someone training a baby fennec, because reasons: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItRMOCkrglc
> 
> Next episode: Tod turns into a giant mutant mega-fox and dukes it out with an archdemon one-on-one! Meg decides to retire and dedicate her life to cooking terrible food in the name of friendship and Wigs discovers the true meaning of Christmas. 
> 
> *This chapter was brought to you by more illness and obsessive marathons of kung fu films. They don't have anything to do with the story, I just wanted to watch a bunch of kung fu movies.*
> 
> Edit: I ended up clipping off the end of this chapter, since I had included a scene in the next one that I decided just didn't fit with the tone and pacing. So if you are wondering where the fox surprise went, it has been unmade. Meg is very relieved, but I'm sure I'll make up for it by doing something equally unpleasant to her later.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for stopping by to wonder at my ridiculous brainchild of self-indulgence! I hope you garnered some amusement out of it, and if you did (or didn't) I would love to hear why.
> 
> I'm kind of new at this whole actually writing and posting things, so PLEASE comment if you have advice or constructive criticism. At all. Seriously. Help.
> 
> The credit/blame for this honestly goes to the many writers of the DA fandom, whose bold and creative works have fed my obsessions and finally inspired me to find an outlet for all the feels. You guys rock!


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